


Come As You Are

by Alemanriq, AlohaSoleil, Picajc



Series: Grunge AU [1]
Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Adult topics mentioned at times, Alternate Universe - 1990s, Dating, Drama, F/M, Family, Fluff and Angst, Giving Hector the life he deserves, Grunge AU, Love at First Sight, No Murder AU, Real Life, Roasting Gustavo, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2019-11-05 18:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 71,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17924432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alemanriq/pseuds/Alemanriq, https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlohaSoleil/pseuds/AlohaSoleil, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Picajc/pseuds/Picajc
Summary: What if Héctor and Imelda met and lived their life in the 1990s and beyond? A chance encounter with each other puts the two on a journey of learning what it means to love, follow your dreams, seize your moment, and be part of family.





	1. The Best Favor

**Author's Note:**

> Ernesto asks Héctor for a favor and it ends up becoming the best favor of his life.

Panic. He was panicking, and that was not something Ernesto did often. Héctor was the worrier, not him. However, right now, Ernesto was screwed. He was backed into a corner, and for once, knew he wouldn’t be able to smooth talk his way out of it.

“Héctor, wake up.” He whispered to the prone form of his best friend and roommate.

“Hmmnnn.”

“Héctor!” He gave a soft shove against the sleeping form. Still no response. Another tactic then. Ernesto quietly grabbed one of the unheld pillows and raised it high above his head before bringing it down on his lanky friend. “Héctor Rivera, stop humming this instant!” He exclaimed in between hits.

“Ahh!” Héctor yelped as he rolled straight out of bed and landed ungracefully on to the cold floor. He scrambled to his feet, quickly grabbing his wrist with the opposite hand.  “Lo siento Sister Mar—hey! That’s not funny, ‘Nesto!”  Héctor shoved at his laughing roommate, but he was wheezing too hard to notice.

“Your face…” Tears started to stream down Ernesto’s cheeks and he threw the pillow aside “You should have seen your face!”

Héctor scowled before rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes.  “Why the hell are you waking me up at—” he glanced at the digital clock on his nightstand, “8:47 in the morning?! It’s my day off!”

Ernesto stopped laughing immediately and looked down at the cordless phone in his hands.  “You sure about that?”

Héctor’s face paled at the question and alarm rang in his head. “Is it Tuesday? Dios, did I oversleep on—”

“No worries, it’s Monday. You have the day off. Buuuuuut Gustavo is on the phone—he wants to talk to you!” And Ernesto thrust the phone toward Héctor’s ear.

He coughed off any hint of sleep and groggily held the phone up. “Bueno?”

_“Where are you?!”_

“What are you talking about?”

“Ernesto said you were coming in today for his shift because he’s sick!”

“¿Qué? But he’s—” His eyes caught Ernesto backing away slowly and dramatically grasping his throat, while sending him pleading eyes. ‘ _Por favor_ ,’ he made sense of the silent words coming out of buff man’s mouth.

“You’re the only ones with the key and Chich is gonna be pissed if the shop isn’t open in 10 minutes!”

_‘Por favoooooooooooor,’_ Ernesto mouthed beneath the doorframe. He added a muted, yet rough cough as he slumped against the wood.

“I—uh—”

“Nesto, do you have my other sock?” A female voice piped up from the other room. Héctor’s expression turned down into a glare.

So this is what it was about.

“Please cover me,” Ernesto pleaded quietly.

“Héctor! Are you coming or not?” He flinched as Gustavo’s voice unexpectedly rang in his ears.

He sighed and rubbed his face. “I’ll be there in 15 minutes.”

“You better be here in less than 10—” The voice cut off as Héctor groaned and ran a hand through his hair.

“Ay, amigo, I don’t know how to—”

“You owe me big time.”

“Por supuesto amigo!” Ernesto grinned and walked over to collect the phone. “I’ll buy you a new bottle of tequila.”

“And cover one of my shifts.”

“Fine, fine. That too,” Ernesto dismissed, already making his way down the hall.

“Ugghhhhh ‘Nestooo.” Héctor gripped his tangled locks and dragged himself out of bed. He shivered when his bare feet stepped across the chilly floors and he quickened his pace towards the bathroom.

Today was going to be a long day. 

* * *

 It didn’t take Héctor long to make himself presentable and rush out the door.

A few minutes to brush his teeth and comb his hair, scrunch the loose curls with a few licks of water. The slickness made it easier to collect his mane into a loose ponytail. Even on a time crunch, Héctor could not deny a refreshing dose of cold water to wash away the sleep in his eyes and actually wake him up.

He only needed a few seconds to snatch a dark gray T-shirt and faded jeans lounging casually on “The Chair”. With a natural deftness, he managed to pull off a last-minute look that said “Kind of got my life together, but not exactly” with a small dash of hotness.

Simple. Comfortable. _Convenient._

The final touch of his 5-minute emergency routine was a subtle spritzing of cologne. With a deep breath, the musky aroma wafting through his nostrils activated his senses to a functional level of productivity. It would be better with a fresh cup of coffee rolling on his tongue and warming his body to jumpstart the sluggish reside of the weekend, but there was no time for that.

Héctor was not late. He was _delayed._

10 minutes delayed, to be exact.

The good news? Chich was still riding high on his short vacation, so he didn’t need to worry about disappointing Boss Man. On the other hand, he would have to work the shift alongside his “favorite” person.

“You’re twenty minutes late, Chorizo.”

“Buenos dias to you, too,” Héctor retorted, slamming the car door and detangling the chain of keys from his pocket. A slight shiver ran through his body as he stepped out into the chilly morning air. The faint exhaustion in Héctor’s body was the only reason he was biting his tongue at the grumbling tone pouring out of Gustavo.

“I’ve been here for thirty minutes now, freezing my ass off!” The stocky man jittered dramatically with his arms closed in to preserve his own warmth. “I could have bought chorizo for breakfast before you got here.”

“You should have done it then.” Héctor grunted as he attempted to pull the old key out of the aging lock. With a few jiggles, he managed to successfully retrieve it and open shop. “I don’t get you, amigo.” He flipped the sign over on the door and pushed the stopper in with his foot. “You always say you could have done something or plan to do some huge thing. But when it comes down to it, you never follow through,” he pointed out, while looking over his shoulder with an amused gleam in his eye.

“Pffft, that’s because I had to make sure you or Big Chin actually showed up!”

“Uh huh, I mean there was the time with Margarita—”

“WE DON’T TALK ABOUT HER!”

“And you went on for weeks about asking her out on a date—”

“SHUT UP FOOL!”

“Then when we all went out for drinks, you couldn’t even—” He burst out in chuckles at the feeling of a clipboard smacked against his arm and a pair of aggravated eyes peering up at him. “What’s this?”

“Your responsibilities today.”

“There’s like fifty things on here!”

“Better get started then.”

“I’m only doing half of this.”

* * *

“I’m going to lunch!” Gustavo boomed, grabbing his wallet and keys.

At the mention of “lunch,” Héctor felt his stomach grumbling with its own natural complaints. He didn’t have time to sneak in a small breakfast today and if Gustavo was heading out, then he would need to stay behind to watch over the store and make sure it didn’t burn to the ground. Not that it would, but who knows.

He placed the final CD into its proper category before stepping out of the aisle to address his hopeless coworker. “Buy me something too!” He called out and ignored the rolling eyes at his request.

“What do you want?”

“Something with meat.” He paused and contemplated. “Tortas or quesadillas are fine.”

“I’ll get you a salad.”

“Does it look like I need one?”

“Fine, fine.” Gustavo waved his hand and turned away.

“And no chorizo!” Héctor added, rolling his eyes when he heard an echo of laughter slip through the door. He shook his head and retreated into the aisles of musical collections surrounding him.

Generally, he enjoyed working at the record store. The job gave him the opportunity to drown in music, work alongside his brother, and interact with different people—children were often his favorite visitors because they were so full of curiosity and wonder. Chich was a good boss who took him under his wing right after he finished college and he felt forever indebted; he already had two years of loyalty under his belt. Not only did employment roll his way, but also a father/uncle figure became present. Life was good and Héctor felt happy.

But _something_ was missing.

“We’re just going to be here for ten minutes, Imelda,” A female voice rang in the store, prompting Héctor to look at the new visitors. “Chill out.”

“Hola.” Héctor waved at the group of girls stumbling in and glanced at each of their faces. They seemed to be close in age to him and were fairly attractive, until his gaze settled on one in particular. The world slowed down in this moment as he stared blankly, stunned and mesmerized by this powerful beauty who had walked in.

Dark hair tumbled down her shoulders with an airiness that made Héctor want to bury his face and fingers in it—comb through the soft strands and watch them curl around his knuckles.  As she turned her face to him, not a single angle was flawed and Héctor almost fainted when their eyes locked. Behind chestnut irises, he could feel an aura of fiery, raw passion and independence radiating from within—already he was a moth drawn to a burning flame. His heart continued to beat, even when it felt like the sight of her had knocked every gust of wind his lungs could inhale.

“3-2-1…”

“Pass.”

“Smash.”

“Imelda?”  

“Pass.” She shook her head and crossed her arms. “Ay, hurry up so we can get lunch—I’m starving.” Despite the irritation rolled in her words, she found herself mindlessly wandering down an aisle and peering at the various artists.

“Calm down, it’ll only take a minute!” A tall female companion walked towards Héctor’s direction with a confident sway of her hips and conniving gleam in her eye. The sudden approach from her jolted the lanky man from his own thoughts as she entered his peripheral vision. “Perdon?”

“Huh? Ah, sí? Can I help you with anything?”

“Sí, I was wondering if Ernesto is working today.” She tilted her head and subtly bit her lip.

“Oh, he’s not working today.” His eyes flickered to search for the new visitor walking around the store. A disappointed hum from the woman brought his attention back to her. “I can leave him a message if you want.”

“Just tell him that Angelina dropped by today,” she answered sweetly.

“She’s nothing like an angel though!” Another one of the girls piped out from the store.

“Shut up, Camila!”

Héctor couldn’t hold back his own chuckle at the similar dialogue these girls shared like he did with Ernesto. “Well, if there’s anything else, please let me know and I’ll get it for you.” He smiled at her, even as she turned on her heels and retreated to her posse—thoughts clouded with questions about her friend. Although his eyes were switching between her and the new stack of CD’s in the box, he did his best to adjust his hearing range to the girls’ conversation a few aisles down.

“Hmmm Imelda, looks like you have a new admirer.” Angelina smirked, bumping her hip against Imelda’s and earning an annoyed groan.

“I’m not interested—I already said ‘pass.’”

“You’re telling us no, but your eyes are saying ‘yes’” Camila jeered.  

“Think of it this way,” Angelina argued. “He’s probably better than Fernando.”

_“Any one is better than Fernando,”_ the other girls said in harmony.

“Exactly.”

“Dios mio, what record store doesn’t have a Selena album?!” Imelda cursed under her breath, while her fingers aggressively sorted through the plastic cases. “This is an insult to her.”

“Call him out then,” Camila encouraged with that same teasing tone as Angelina. “I’m sure he’d love if you gave him a bit of fun.”

“I already told you I don’t want to bang him.” Her teeth grinded from the mounting annoyance from her friends and the lack of Selena albums. “He’s probably some misfit who secretly has depression, lives alone, and jerks off all the time.”

“Don’t judge too quickly, ‘Melda,” the girl beside her pointed out. “He’s definitely not the hottest guy around, but he seems super chill.”

“What Flor said,” Angelina and Camila said in time with each other. “Ooooh, what if they end up getting together?!”

_“Ay, por Dios—”_

“He has a big nose, so he might have a big—”

“You’re right! And they also say if his middle finger is long, so is his—”

“Don’t forget their height difference. He could totally carry her and get it, but hopefully his arms won’t break.”

“And he looks like the type who finishes last— _ohmygod, Imelda!_ She’s gonna go bang him!”

“I didn’t think he was her type!”

“Wow, look at her go,” Flor added. “It’s like she’s on a mission to snatch him.”

“I would technically smash with him, but it looks like they’re going after each other.” Angelina leaned on the counter as their independent friend marched away.

“Why do you think Imelda calls you the ‘overeasy egg?” Camila laughed, tossing her hair back.

“Let’s just watch the show,” Flor said and silence fell over all three girls as they trained their eyes and ears at the couple ahead.

Héctor peered up at the sound of an abrupt thumping walking towards his vicinity—his eyes lit up with every step bringing this gorgeous creature closer to him. Did God exist? There was no way this beautiful, confidently unrestrained woman would approach him, unless it was the workings of the universe weaving and sewing their impending love story. The fierceness blazed in her eyes, cheeks blushed, and small strands of hair sweeping across her face. As she moved closer, he had a better look at the subtle details up-close, such as the smokey purple eyeshadow blended naturally across her eyelids and how she had several piercings decorating her earlobe.   

“Hola, can I help—”

“Where is...the bathroom?”

“Um…” He leaned back, clearly thrown off by this question. His hands awkwardly motion at the direction in the back somewhere, but he struggles to formulate his words. “There’s one in the baaaack, but it’s for employ—you know what? It’ll be fine.”

“Well, if it’s only for employees, then maybe I—”

“Está bien, no one will even know and my co-worker is at lunch.”

“Wish I had lunch,” he heard her mutter under her breath. He opened his mouth to say something about grabbing one together, but decided not to. The less he had say, the less of a chance he had at embarrassing himself. With a quick peek, he glanced back and saw her thinking to herself. When she looked in his direction, he swiftly turned his head forward, pretending he totally didn’t just kind of check her out.

He needed to get himself together.

“Here you go.” Héctor opened a door in the back of the store and stepped aside. “And…” He scratched his ear and tried not to let his voice shake. “...if you need anything, just let me know.”

“Gracias,” Imelda replied, walking into the small bathroom.

Once she closed the door, Héctor turned around and gently slapped his cheeks. “Get it together, idiota! Just..keep your cool and don’t be...weird.” He sighed and glanced up.

_‘If there is a God, please let me have a chance with her. She’s something different and I’m totally not cool.’_

The only sign he got was a perfectly executed high-note from Santana blasting on the speakers. He sighed and shook his head before glancing at the door again.

“Well, standing here isn’t going to be ‘cool’ either. She’ll just think I’m a creep.” Héctor walked away, hoping getting back to work would shake his thoughts from the gorgeous woman who walked in.

* * *

“Where’s the bathroom? Ay, Dios, Imelda! What’s wrong with you?!” She sighed at her reflection. The mirror was slightly dusty, but clear enough where Imelda could see the light sun spot on her neck. “Get it together!”

She didn’t need to use the bathroom at all! Yet for some reason, as soon as she came face-to-face with that tall dude, her mind went blank. And why was she getting so flustered when he smiled at her and acted so friendly to her? He sells music, of course, he has to be friendly. How else do they make sales?

She let out a low groan as she reached into her purse, searching for her makeup bag. And why didn’t the girls tell her that her eyeliner was smudged at the corner? How embarrassing! This dude was probably staring at it and thinking she looked so weird when she stormed up to him. With her knuckle, she swiped away the subtle smear beneath her eye and took out her lipstick.

“And...he was actually kind of cute when he—no, no, no—” Imelda blinked rapidly as she smoothed the color on her lips. “You’re only saying weird things because you’re hungry.” She leaned back and examined her makeup. Yes, the only reason she wasn’t acting herself was because she didn’t have lunch yet.

Nothing more, nothing less.

“Probably also thinks I’m so moody,” she grumbled to herself as she adjusted her shirt and teased her hair.

_‘I wonder if he'd like if I show more stomach or less.’_

“Aggghhhh! I’m _not_ interested in him!” She turned to the sides, checking that she was presentable and good-looking. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want him to think I’m hot—wait—what if he’s a creep?” Imelda pondered the thought and weighed out her options:

  1. Show less and be safe.  
  2. Show more and he’s a creep.
  3. Show more and he’s interested—then she can turn him down
  4. Show more and he’s not interested.



Considering her hungry brain was telling her he’s cute, perhaps she should take the risk and make her shirt a bit higher. With a decision on mind, Imelda tightened the knot of her flannel so he would see more of her toned midriff. A new burst of confidence bloomed within her when she saw herself in the reflection—she had a hot body. Why not show it off a little while she was still young?  

This sounded perfectly reasonable. Feeling secure in her decision, she closed her purse and walked out of the bathroom. To her relief, the dude wasn’t waiting for her when she stepped out.

_‘Well, at least he doesn’t seem like a creep.’_

Imelda looked around and didn’t see any sign of him nearby. While she was mostly careless about it, she couldn’t help but feel a small part of her wanting to seek him out somehow. There was nothing wrong with wanting to flaunt your beauty in front of someone—it’s self-confidence. She tossed her hair back and moved to find her friends, Selena CD, and food.

With a curious eye, she glanced at some of the albums lined up from the back area and the posters pinned to the wall. Most were Mexican male rock bands that were currently popular, and then she saw several vintage ones with 1940’s and 1950’s musicians. There was certainly variety in the mix. Her ears caught the signature sound of Santana playing in the background and she found herself moving in sync with the song. Preferably, she liked to dance to cumbia-style music, but this was also very nice. That man crossed her thoughts again as she also noticed boxes of wrapped albums. Did he enjoy his job? Was this what he planned on doing for the rest of his life? There had to be more to him than just this store and lovely eyes…

_“...el mundo es mi familia…”_

Imelda turned in the direction of soft humming and singing, and she found the tall dude again. His back was turned to her and he was sorting through CDs from a box on the counter. There was nothing special in what he was doing, but a small smile curled on Imelda’s face as she watched him bob his head in beat to the music.

He was so...cute.

Perhaps she could indulge in getting to know him.

She walked closer to him, careful not to make her footsteps too obvious. Her heart beat a little faster with excitement

“So you must be happy being surrounded by music.”

“Oh!” He jumped in surprise when she spoke to him.  She could see his eyes almost bulge out when he took a quick but noticeable glance at her subtle outfit adjustment. But his gaze didn’t linger on her body for very long as he forced himself to look in her eyes. Imelda expected him to be a bit blown away by her, but she didn’t expect him to look so flustered and endearing when he did it. Once he got over the initial shock, he relaxed a bit and smiled. “Lo siento...I didn’t hear you walk up. What were you saying?”

“I said you must be happy to be surrounded by music.” Usually, she would be annoyed that she’d repeat herself (often with her twin brothers). But this man seemed to be worth a shot of her patience. “Since you work at a record store.”

“Ah, sí…” Héctor bit his lip and ran a hand through his hair. Imelda couldn’t help but notice how smooth it looked. It was so minimal and simple, but she found herself drawn to it and imagined her own fingers running through it. “Music is my life.”

“That’s nice,” she remarked. Her cheeks blushed as she worked to think of something new to bring up. “I was wondering if you have any female artists’ albums here.”

“We have albums from singers in the States like Madonna and Whitney Houston, but not many Mexicana ones unfortunately.”

_‘What? How can there not be many Latina singers in this market?!’_

“Well, do you plan on putting more out here ever?”  

“Por supuesto! We need more Mexicana singers, in my opinion. I’ve heard one in the States might become popular…”

“Selena?”

“Sí! She’s kind of a small artist right now, but I think she has potential to grow as a singer.”

“I have been looking for her CD! Do you have _any_?”

He glanced up in thought, trying to grab any tangible answer. Imelda wasn’t entirely attracted to him, but she had to admit he was very charming. “I know we had a few that came in—let’s go check.” With a new sense of confidence, he turned on his heels and walked toward one of the aisles.

Imelda followed close. A bit _too_ close. Her ears caught him humming and singing soft lyrics in accompaniment to the hypnotizing guitar. Something about the world is his familia—a sweet sentiment,  but one that didn’t seem to fit him.

“What are you singing?”

_‘Why do you care, Imelda?’ Just let it go._

“Oh! It’s just, uh, from a song I’m trying to finish writing.”

“You write music?”

He shrugged. “Un poco.”

They passed a new collection of Juan Gabriel albums placed strategically at the front of the store, alongside Queen and the Beatles. Imelda noticed another stack of familiar Mexican bands neatly organized along the aging wood tables. It wasn’t unusual for a music store to have a variety of music genres or even foreign artists; yet this store seemed to be more internationally oriented in comparison to others she had visited.

“Un poco?”

“My friend can’t write his own songs, so he has me do it. But that’s alright because it’s fun, even though I’m not that good.” Héctor stopped suddenly and shuffled through a several cases.

“I like it so far.”  

He paused and looked at her, almost bewildered that she said that. Then his gaze softened and a timid smile beamed on his face.

“Gee...thanks…” Héctor rubbed his neck and smiled. “It’s just a single phrase though.”

“It sounds like it has a strong meaning, and I think that's important. I don’t get why songs with weak lyrics get so famous,” Imelda complained, rolling her eyes. “It's kind of upsetting.”

“I get what you mean,” he agreed. “The music business is sometimes like that and the critics can be very harsh too. A hit depends on trial and error, but also luck because record companies are looking for what's easier to hear and understand. Also, not everyone is willing to take—”

“A leap of faith.”

“Yeah...exactly that.”

Silence fell over both of them, yet not a hint of awkwardness. They smiled and Imelda was the first to glance away, briskly pushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. Héctor turned back to shuffle between albums; his fingers moved on their own speedy accord while his eyes searched. Discreetly, Imelda watched him as he was lost in his focus and noticed how soft his features were—not completely physical, but in the way his eyes sharpened on his task and relaxed when they met hers.

_‘Maybe I would sleep with him after all…’_

“Oh! Here’s one of Selena’s CD’s!” He exclaimed happily, pulling out a clear case with a cover of the woman wearing a black bandeau and flowing skirt. The rich tones of the sun bounced off her skin and radiated a warm glow that created subtle shadows over the contours of her abs. “It’s from last year but I remember thinking she has an amazing voice!”

Imelda carefully watched his gaze as it glossed over the album cover. She took critical note if there was a hint of lust at the revealing outfit choice displayed. For a reason she couldn’t explain, she exhaled in relief when he quickly turned away from the cover and handed it over to her. Was that it? He only glanced at it for five seconds before passing it on. Fernando would have gawked at the image and mentally undressed, made imaginary love, and felt afterglow for five minutes. Imelda blinked at the album and looked at Héctor again.

Instead of seeing horniness, she saw victory.

He must be someone unique and interesting to not be turned on by her. Maybe he’s not just some average dude who has depression, lives alone, and jerks off after all...

“I enjoy her music a lot. And like you said, I think she has a lot of potential,” Imelda said.  

“Well, you must have amazing taste in music.”

Imelda scoffed and shook her head. “Apparently not, since all my friends tease me for liking Los Panchos.”

“What?!” His eyes almost bulged out of his head in shock and he took a quick look at the group of girls she came in with before turning his attention back to her. “That trio is a classic! Is it because they're old?”

“Maybe? I don’t know, they probably think I'm old fashioned,” she sighed and gave a small shrug. “I grew up listening to their music because of my parents, so it’s part of me.”

“Well, those viejitos inspired a big part of the love songs you hear nowadays, and without them, we wouldn’t have them!” Héctor asserted; Imelda’s soft laughter only encouraged him and she couldn’t help but get lost in his friendly eyes. “And we music sellers owe them a lot—it helps us earn money.” Imelda couldn’t help but chuckle at the smooth and sudden transition from serious to lightheartedness in his voice. “But seriously, couldn't say music is my life if I can't enjoy at least some of its background, right?”

“Sí, sí, I suppose you’re right.”

Héctor looked down while his fingers fumbled with the albums beside him. “What I'm trying to say is—don't feel bad. Some of their hits are _way_ better than what you see in the market now.”  

“Gracias,” Imelda piped up, confidence blooming at his words.

“Some bands don’t even know how to use bass,” he added with a slight roll of his eyes. “Besides, they made trio ensembles become trendy and cool.”

“Yeah, that's nice...”

“They also sang in other languages.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

“Mmhm. Greek, Japanese, Tagalog, English, and some other ones.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah, hm-” he paused, perking up slightly as if he suddenly became aware of something out of the ordinary. He looked around for a bit and spotted Imelda’s group huddled together at another aisle—staring at them. Héctor chuckled and gave his signature smile. “Are you ladies alright?”

“We’re good!” Angelina called out cheerfully, much to Imelda’s chagrin. “Don't mind us! We'll be checking out stuff at the counter!”

The group of girls seemed to slowly migrate closer and closer to the door, rather than the counter. Imelda could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment and slight panic that her squad was literally ditching her! She tried to send them a glare, until they stopped in front of a small stand with keychains on it.

_‘Flor probably saw one of her boy band keychains.’_

Imelda wrote a mental note to kill all three of them for trying to leave her alone when she needed them most. She glanced at Héctor and noticed his attention was flickering between her and the doorway. Maybe now would be a good time for an exit strategy.

“Well, you probably have many things to do since you are by yourself right now and I don't want to take up your time...”

“No!” And Imelda almost jumped at how immediate his reaction was to her. Héctor retracted his hand and rubbed his other wrist, before scratching his head nervously.  “No, I mean, uh, it’s okay. I am...uh—” His eyes glanced at the door again and he relaxed a bit. “—having a break actually.”

“A break?” Well if her friends were going to ditch her, she might as well handle him on her own. She combed her fingers through her hair and tossed it back, giving him a sly look. “I thought you were selling music.”

“Ay, you got me!” He smiled and played along. “It’s part of my job to encourage people to enjoy music of any kind. Guess I just forgot I was actually working for a second...” Something clicked when they beamed at each other and an electrifying feeling burning in their veins in this moment. This smooth and natural dialogue between them left them wanting more time and to feed this moment so they could forget everything around them. Just focus on them. Héctor opened his mouth, and Imelda expected him to roll out some flirty phrase to hook her in.

“That’s what happens when you enjoy your job and get to meet amazing people,” he added instead.  

“Yeah, definitely,” Imelda said, approving his attempt to stay cool. At least he wasn’t being a creep. “So you're a writer _and_ music critic now?”

“Ha! I wish! Actually, I take that back.” His response prompted Imelda to raise her brow. “Too much pressure.” An awkward smile curled on his face and he rubbed the back of his head. Now that Imelda was getting to slowly know him, she could see many adorable child-like features slowly emerging from him that only added to his charm.

“Do you play any instruments?”

“Guitar and bass...a little...sometimes drums..”

“Is that all?” She encouraged.

“...keyboard.”

“That's impressive.”

“Yeah...you know, there's a small concert happening this weekend—”

_“Chorizo!”_

Héctor cringed at the exclamation and Imelda’s ears almost burned red at the interruption. Didn’t this person see they were having a conversation?!

“I think my break is over,” he said quietly, disappointment crossing over his face.

“What break? I'm buying a CD, remember?” Imelda cocked her head to the side and couldn’t help but feel giddy when Héctor caught on to her little game.

“That’s right...but you know what? You can just keep it,” Héctor said.

“What? No, I should at least pay for it!”

“Next time,” he replied. “No te preocupes.”

“Bu—”

_“Chorizo!”_

_“Imelda!”_

“What?!” The couple exclaimed.

“Lunch!” Gustavo and the girls called back to each other.

“Well, gracias for the CD,” Imelda trailed off. “I’ll...come back to pay properly.”

“Gracias for coming for in.”

They continued to stand there, eyes locked before Imelda bit her lip and turned around to return to her group. She didn’t look back, but knew he was watching over her until she was out of his sight. Her heart hammered in her chest and she crossed her arms, hoping it would keep it from bursting. _‘What is happening?’_ She thought to herself. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Yet here she was, walking away from a guy that almost made her lose her cool.

“Ready Imeldita?” Camila asked cheerfully.

“Let’s go,” Imelda hissed, linking her arm through her friend’s and the huddle rushing out the door.  

Just as Imelda thought, Héctor’s eyes never left her even as she and her group walked out. He stood there almost frozen in his own thought and world at the gorgeous stranger who held on to his heart. Usually he was also aware, but in the moments after she left, he was completely detached from reality and stuck on her. But as he was reeling in from the life-changing encounter, his eyes caught sight of the brown paper bag in Gustavo’s hands and he bolted.

“I got you some tortas and— _what the hell?!”_

“OKTHANKYOU!”  Héctor exclaimed as he swiped the bag straight out of his coworker’s hands and ran after the girls.

“He’s so weird,” Gustavo muttered to himself, shaking his head and walking to the door to observe any iconic moments that may unfold. 

* * *

“So you wouldn’t bang him, huh Imelda?” Angelina asked cheekily.

“He is so into you!” Flor remarked, eyeing the blush rising on Imelda’s cheeks.

“It’s not like that!”

“It isn’t?” Camila mocked. “It sure looked like our fiery Imeldita was falling in love at first sight.”

“Ugh, you’re all so—”

_“_ _¡_ _Espere!”_

The girls stopped in their tracks and turned around to see Héctor running towards them with a brown bag in his hands. For a moment, time seemed to slow down and their eyes watched him swing in his arms to propel his momentum; the natural form of his physique as he ran; and curls of hair bouncing in sync with every step. The girls became caught in a momentary trance as he closed the distance between the block keeping them apart.

“Here,” Héctor panted, offering the bag to Imelda. “It’s—tortas—I think—”

“But this is your lunch.”

“Well...you said you didn’t have any...so you can have mine.”

“It’s okay, you already gave me—”

“It’s fine.” Héctor waved his hand and combed back the loose hairs in his face. “I’m not hungry anyway.”

“But—”

“I won’t leave until you take it.”

Imelda eyed the food for a few moments, then looked up at Héctor. Who was this crazy guy making her unravel for no reason, giving away a CD and his own lunch for her? She should just turn around and walk away. He needed every bite more than her! Yet the genuine expression on his face and every tired breath he took in melted her heart. With gratitude emerging, she slowly reached for the bag and allowed herself to accept it.  

“Gracias....?”

“Héctor,” he filled and smiled. Not only with his mouth, but also his eyes. “That’s my name.”

“Gracias, Héctor.”

“Of course,” he answered softly.

They got lost in the moment before another annoying voice piped up:

_“CHORIZO!”_

Héctor sighed, but the smile remained. “Well, I gotta go. But I hope you enjoy it!” With that, he ran off back to the store. The magic that fell upon the couple dissolved in the air, but lingered in their hearts.

Imelda stood there, lost in her own world of surprise and delight. As his tall, lean form disappeared from her sights, she glanced down at the lunch bag—the warmth radiating from within and the smell of meat filling her senses.

“Héctor…” she murmured to herself.

The girls glanced at each other with excited smiles and leaned close to her.

“Imelda?” they probed. She remained silent for a few moments, before she turned around and began to walk away. “Imelda!” they called out to her again, catching up with their friend. “You okay?”

Imelda’s grip tightened around the bag and album, and she stopped.

“I’m going to marry him.”


	2. One Way or Another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imelda insists that she is not dressing to impress a certain long-haired musician who makes her heart beat faster. If only Héctor would show up for work for the next two days.

“I’m going to marry her!” 

“Who? Paulina Rubio?” 

“No! Ernesto, I saw the most beautiful girl in the world and ugh ! ”  Héctor slumped dramatically into the kitchen table, across from his roommate stuffing his face with food.  “She’s gorgeous and intense! As soon as I saw her, I don’t even think I could breathe! Her gaze is so fiery and full of passion, and she seems to like music! Oh, and she also has wavy hair that’s just luscious — ”

“Does she have big…” Ernesto puffed out his chest and hovered his hands over it, gesturing an invisible weight. 

“‘Nesto!” 

“What?! I’m asking you to describe her!” He laughed. “And are you saying you didn’t check?” 

“No...it’s just...it wasn’t like that!” 

“Take it easy, you know I wouldn’t go after your girl.” 

Héctor rolled his eyes. “Yeah, they usually just go on their own,” he grumbled. 

“So what’s her name anyway?” Ernesto asked before taking a bite. “Is it sexy like Juanita or Adriana?” 

“Pretty sure it’s Imelda…” 

“Imelda?” Ernesto paused and continued to chew in thought. “No offense amigo, but that’s an old-fashioned name—are you sure she’s around your age?”  

“I’m not wearing glasses yet, so my eyes must be working.” 

“I should hope so if you’re raging about some hot girl.” 

“She’s not just some hot girl though, Ernesto!”  Héctor threw his hands up. “I’m going to  _ marry _ her.” 

Ernesto chuckled and shook his head. “Alright, whatever you say. Let me know if your dream wedding gets cancelled after next week.” 

“Watch me,” Héctor challenged. “I’ll make her fall in love with me. And what woman wouldn’t when they see a face as guapa as mine?” 

“If your face is so guapa, why is my body count higher than yours?” 

“Because my standards are higher,” Héctor retorted with an eye roll. 

“Still doesn’t change the fact that women like me—” 

“Pah! I’m taking a shower!” 

“Don’t be jealous, Héctor! You can still woo Isabel with music!” Ernesto bellowed behind his friend, which only gave him a hand wave as a response. “And don’t forget to finish the song! You haven’t touched it in a month!”

“It’s  _ Imelda! _ ” 

* * *

Héctor turned over in his bed, eyes blinking through the nightly darkness of midnight. Streaks of neon lights slipped through the blinds and decorated his walls with blues, pinks, and purples. One of those colors only added to his never-ending thoughts of the woman who came into the store earlier in the day. This morning, his body ached at the thought of covering one of Ernesto’s shifts. 

But now, he wanted to work the entire day for the rest of the week if it meant catching a glimpse of her and having a small conversation. 

He closed his eyes and all he saw was the beautiful, soft look on her face when they clicked. A smile curled at the corner of his lips when he also thought back to the moment she accepted his lunch—she was so shy, touched, and surprised in the most adorable way. How he yearned to see her like that for many more days and discover new things about Imelda. A familiar hum with little lyrics flowed out as he replayed the afternoon for the thousandth time.

_ “I like it so far.” _

Héctor smiled and gazed aimlessly at the ceiling.  _ ‘She really said it,’  _ he thought. If only he could finish it, so she could be amazed. “El mundo es mi familia…” He tasted the words and played with different sounds, trying to fit the message with their usual heavy rock vibes. But it wouldn’t blend together no matter how he tried. 

That was why it had taken him over a month to have only two lines of a new song. Writer’s block had become harder to overcome than he anticipated, and Ernesto was pushing the deadline of this weekend harder than the past few weeks; and with good reason, too if they were going to make money at the upcoming concert. 

He moaned. “Ayyy...how am I supposed to finish a song when I’m falling in love with you?”  Héctor buried his face into his pillow and let out a muffled groan. “You walk in and turn my world upside down while talking to me about the one thing I’m passionate about, Selena, Los Panchos, and—” 

Immediately, he perked up from bed and began muttering a hushed melody tumbling from his lips. His eyes were glazed and lost in his own musical thoughts, not paying attention to the clock reading 12:44 A.M. He jumped out of bed and searched for a small, red notebook through the shadows. 

With no luck, he turned on his lamp—eyes squinting at the warm light illuminating the room. Finally, he spotted it lying carelessly on a backpack and wasted no time scooping it up to a blank page and recording the words rushing through his head. 

* * *

Imelda thought she was going to have a heart attack. 

Despite her cool demeanor, a rush of adrenaline forced her heart to beat a little bit faster and butterflies to flutter around her stomach. The extra hour she took getting ready this morning had her more excited than usual on a Tuesday. An extra thin layer of moisturizer had her face glowing beneath her daytime-sultry makeup — purple smokey eyeshadow balanced with a touch of berry-red lipstick. Her skin felt velvety with the shea-cocoa butter cream she bought yesterday; also giving a pleasantly subtle scent that wasn’t overbearing nor nonexistent. Imelda also added a squeeze of serum to the curls of her hair to keep it soft and shiny for the day. 

Her beauty routine wasn’t the only thing she had given extra care into. 

She picked out a fitted, white crop-top (that wasn’t too revealing) and layered a denim jacket on top. A black denim skirt wrapped perfectly around the curves of her hips and gave her flexibility to show off the right amount of thighs. The final touch of her wardrobe selection were black thigh-high socks paired with boots. 

_ ‘I hope  _ _ Héctor likes this,’ _ she thought to herself. 

“I’m so excited!” Camila squealed, linking her arm in Imelda’s. “We’re helping our Imeldita get married!” 

“I’m not getting married!” Their fiery friend protested. “I only said that because I was hungry!” 

“Riiiight, and you definitely came to work dressed like  _ that  _ for nothing.” 

“I just felt like looking nice for today. A girl can do that, no?” Imelda could hear their eyes rolling to the back of their heads, and she wanted to give them an eye roll for their incessant teasing.

“Whatever you say.” Angelina shrugged. “But you’re sure it’s not to get your man’s attention?” 

“Sí, la neta!” 

“ ¿Neta?” Angelina threw back in her face, smiling at the annoyed groan that came out. 

“We’ve known you since high school and never heard you say something crazy like that,” Flor said. 

“And after Fernando, you said you were never getting married,” Camila added. 

“I didn’t know what I was saying!” 

All the girls stopped and stared at her.  

“Even if it doesn’t work out, you could still give this guy a chance,” Flor reasoned. 

Imelda sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know…” 

Angelina stood in front of her and grabbed her shoulders. “You both have chemistry, we all saw it and out of all the years we have known you…” She paused and Imelda legitimately listened to the insatiable ringleader of their group. “We never saw you look at a man like you did with this one.” 

“She’s right, ‘Melda. You have nothing to lose if nothing comes out of it.” Camila put her hand on Imelda’s shoulder. “He’s the only guy you ever had this weird look for. Just give him a chance.”

With the supportive gazes and words from her friends, Imelda felt her shoulders relax under their pressure. She gripped the strap of her purse and let out a tired sigh before nodding her head. 

“...Alright.” 

“Really?!” 

“ _ One _ chance.” 

The girls shrieked in excitement and sputtered a string of encouragements that went through her ear and out the other. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to listen to them, but she still held doubts if this was a good decision. With the group pressuring her, part of her felt invigorated to pursue a chance with a man she had a genuine connection with on their first meeting. But another part of her felt nervous, scared, hesitant...What if he seemed nice and charming at first glance, but once you know him he’s really a toxic person beneath a mask? Even if he did turn out to be a jerk, she would drop him immediately if he couldn’t love her for who she is. It was hard to think of that possibility when she felt a genuine connection. She just didn’t want to indulge in such a false hope and end up hurt. 

But as the girls said...she could just give him a chance. It wouldn’t hurt after all, right? 

“I can’t wait to see you two together today!” 

“Ay, I’m just going in to pay him back for the CD.” Imelda rolled her eyes as they continued to walk over to the record store.

“Still denying your true feelings?” Angelina teased. 

“Oh, sí. I only mean to say that he's got me loquita, my heart is burning with love and an unending desire to be with him for the rest of my life. That I want to marry him as soon as possible and have three children.” 

“That’s what I like to hear!” 

“Every love story begins somewhere, Imelda, and yours starts right here!” Camila pointed at the store. 

“Pray for me,” Imelda mumbled under her breath as they got closer to the store. Beneath a nonchalant expression, her heart was hammering in her chest again just like it had yesterday when she left. She didn’t even realize she was holding her breath the entire time before entering. Her eyes immediately searched for him, for  Héctor. His name was so simple and fit him perfectly the longer she thought about it before going to bed. Hopefully he didn’t notice the slight bags under her eyes from the little amount of sleep she had from thinking about him. But a nice layer of concealer could easily handle that job. Her thoughts ran wild as she tried to find his tall form casually walking through the aisles and looking for her, too. Perhaps he was in the back and didn’t hear them…

But as she walked further in and glanced toward the back, near the restroom, there was no sight of him. 

Her heart sank a bit. 

Héctor wasn’t here. 

She bit her lip and shook her head, beating herself up for giving into false hope today. Maybe this was a sign that she shouldn’t even try and she ended up looking extra good for almost nothing—

“Excuse me, señorita? May I help you?” A male voice asked from behind her, and the butterflies returned in her stomach. Could it be? As she turned around, she was met by a different, yet attractive gentleman. 

He was a couple of centimeters shorter than Héctor; smooth swept hair; pearly-white teeth flashing; and a good, thick physique. A conventionally handsome man, Imelda had to admit. Yet he didn’t alleviate the sunken feeling of disappointment. Was this the one Angelina had been swooning over for the past week? 

“Sí, is Héctor in for work today?” 

“No, but I can help you with anything you  _ want _ .” His eyes glossed over her face and lingered over her curves—Imelda could see an almost hungry gleam flicker in his expression, yet he hid it soon after with a charming smile. She cringed internally at the similarity he had to Fernando and she wanted nothing but to be away from him. 

“No, I’m fine. I would prefer to speak with Héctor.” She glanced over his shoulder one last time before turning away to remove herself from him. “Gracias.” 

“Are you sure? I can get a gorgeous woman like you anything you want—original records, newly released albums, a  _ coffee date or dinner _ —” 

“No gracias,” she retorted and turned to walk away.  

“Well, we don’t have to meet up so soon!” He called out to her, following her pace a bit and trying to hide his surprise. “But I’m very helpful with music because I happen to also be a musician and singer—a very good one at that.” 

“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed.” 

“Sí, señorita, and I’m very versatile in the genres I sing. I can show you different artists we have and my own music for you, if you’d like.” 

Imelda put on a smile. “Thank you for the offer, señor. But I’m not interested. I’ll come in on another day.” With that, she walked past him toward her friends and left a stunned man in the dust. She could hear him muttering indecipherable phrases of disbelief and she almost laughed. 

A light weight lifted off her shoulders at her rejection; he didn’t lack manners or act rude. He was good to look at, until he opened his mouth. As soon as he started talking, his character seemed to surface. Imelda recognized he had a roaming eye for women and was likely in love with himself. The taste of shallowness and flirtatious undertones in his words seemed like a waste of attractiveness. 

Yet a small voice told her not to judge too quickly. Ironically, she said some interesting judgments when she first saw Héctor. 

_ ‘But he’s not Héctor!’ _ And that soft voice went silent. 

“Did you find him, ‘Melda?” 

She sighed and shook her head. “He’s not in today.” And the girls gave her a sympathetic look, huddling close for support. “Some guy with a big chin is working.” 

“Ernesto’s working?!” 

Imelda made a face. “I don’t know. All I know is Hé—he isn’t here today.” 

“Alright, before we figure out how to get him to propose to you, we’re gonna talk to Ernesto,” Camila squealed, giving her friend a soft pat before hustling off with Angelina.  

“Dios mio, what are we going to do about those two?” Imelda sighed tiredly. 

“Just let them be,” Flor answered flatly. “They know how to take care of themselves, just as we do ourselves. And anyway, they’re just having fun.” 

“He’s not even that hot,” Imelda remarked, craning her neck to get a better look around Camila’s head. She scoffed at the sight of him having a jolly good time with the next batch of swooning girls—that satisfied look of validation on his face stroking his ego after she turned him down. 

“He’s kind of hot…”

“Oh no, you’re becoming like them now.” 

“Come on, ‘Melda, he’s not  _ ugly _ .” 

“His personality is. If he kept his mouth shut for the rest of his life, then I might find him attractive. But other than that, I don’t care for him.” Imelda tapped her fingers melodically against the wooden counter. “At least the other guy seems genuine and friendly—” 

“You barely know them, and you’re already biased toward one?” Flor side-eyed her with a sly smile and Imelda rolled her eyes. 

“I can read people pretty well! It just so happens I like one over the other, but it doesn’t mean I like-like what’s his name.” 

“No....it just means you  _ love  _ him!” 

Imelda groaned. “Ay, you really are becoming like those two! Out of the four of us, you and I were always the most rational ones and now I’m losing you.” 

“No, I’m being supportive,” Flor countered. 

“It’s three against one now and—Dios mio, they’re still talking to him?! I have to be back at work in 20 minutes.” 

“I’ll just tell them you went back to work, since your husband isn’t here,” Flor offered. 

“I hate you,” Imelda said, yet with a smile. “I’ll call you later after work.” 

 

* * *

“I can’t believe her!” 

Héctor looked up at the loud voice echoing into the garage; his fingers were stuck in place over the proper guitar chords as he paused and waited for the figure to show his face. Though he didn’t really need to when he saw it every day. 

“Believe who?” 

Ernesto stormed in as he dropped his own bag against the wall. “This morra who came in earlier today!” 

“Did something happen?” 

“She  _ rejected _ me!”

"Who?" 

"Some-some bruja!" 

“...That happens…”

“But not to me! Not to Ernesto de la Cruz!”

“I don’t mean to be a dream crusher, but...welcome to the real world.” 

Ernesto gasped. “And she called me  _ señor _ ...am I-am I…?” 

“Are you what?”

“Is this what it’s like to be old?” 

_ “What?” _

The thick man rushed in front of a mirror on the wall and examined his face closely. “Am I losing my handsomeness with age? Ay, Héctor! Why didn’t you tell me there was a crease near my eyes?!  _ Por Dios! Is that a white hair?! _ ” 

“‘Nesto, cálmate! You’re not old!” 

His friend’s face whipped toward his direction with insanity in his eyes. “¡Mírame!” He pointed to his face and almost glared at Héctor. “ _ This _ is the face of an old man.”   

“Ernesto, you’re only 27—still in the prime of your life!” 

“Easy for you to say when you’re 23,” Ernesto grumbled, tilting his head down to search for any signs of silver in his hair. 

Héctor rolled his eyes. “Look, just because one chava turned you down doesn’t mean you’re not attractive anymore. You’re being overdramatic.” 

“Ugh, don’t bring her up. She’s the one who started this. And anyway, she’s not  _ that  _ hot.” 

“What did she look like?” 

“She had these super thin lips that it would be hard to even kiss her. She was flat as a board, but her hips were round like a cow! She had these scary looking eyes and terrible makeup—I thought I was staring at a bruja!” Ernesto combed through his hair again. “And she’s too independent—seems like the type who always does things herself. Too much work.” 

“What’s her name?” 

“Pffft, as if I know!” 

“Well, think of it this way,” Héctor tried to reason, “For every girl who turns you down, there’s probably five more women who want to hook up with you.” 

“I guess,” Ernesto grumbled, pinching at a small zit. “And on top of that, you haven’t finished the song and—” 

“I did! I wanted to show you at today’s rehearsal and I think you’ll like it!” Héctor’s face lit up with excitement and he positioned his fingers to its proper place over the guitar strings. “That girl I met yesterday gave me the inspiration to finish the song. I blended rock with something a little more...traditional this time. You know, we’d get some congas and try a slower tempo..” Ernesto cocked a curious eyebrow as Héctor prepared himself. “I'll just show you.” 

He glanced down at his placement and let out a deep breath before his fingers strummed with a contagious, vibrant energy. His voice rang out in perfect harmony with the music floating in the air, and Ernesto couldn’t help but watch with wide eyes and open ears, while his body subtly moved in sync with the song. Though it was short, the song had power and one that would elevate their status as musicians moreso. 

“So...what do you think?” Héctor looked to him for approval, confident yet also unsure. “I know it hasn’t got that hard beat you wanted, but I think this softer style fits—.” 

“¡Está padrísima, Héctor!”

Relief melted on his face and his smile grew bigger. “You think so?” 

“Sí, it’s different but it’s such a great opening song that will get everyone hooked on us! Not bad, ‘mano.” 

“Gracias a Dios. I wasn’t sure if you’d be about it since it sounds a lot more bolero.” 

“It’s a little old-fashioned, but has enough of a modern take to make us stand out,” Ernesto admitted.“Whoever this girl is, you should hang out with her more so she can give you inspiration in more ways than one, too,” he added with a wink, patting Héctor’s shoulder. 

“Ay, I’m working on that. I managed to tell her a bit about the concert this weekend...”

“¡Órale! I’m proud of you, Héctor! It’s about time you got laid again! She has to come to the concert now!

“I mean...I want something more than just getting laid, but...you think she’ll come?” 

“Sí, of course you got to have more than just one night! A few dates to know each other a bit and then move on after the climax. And I know she’ll come because you seized your moment.” 

 

* * *

There are two instances where Héctor wakes up early—when he  _ absolutely _ needs to and when he  _ wants _ to. 

On Thursday morning, he shuffled out of bed half an hour earlier than usual refreshed and awake.  _ ‘Today is going to be a good day!’ _ he smiled at his reflection as he brushed his teeth, body swaying to a spontaneous tune he hummed. Today was the first day going back to work since meeting the love of his life walk in, and it felt as if his life changed. The memory of her fierce and intense beauty was burned in his mind, and meeting her pulled him out of limbo—a new sense of life had him standing straighter, heart swelling with determination, and musical notes rolling out melodies in his head. 

He lightly combed through any unruly tangles and smoothed it down with water, until the waves were dewy when he pulled it into a ponytail. Last night, he almost stayed up until 1 a.m. trying to figure out a clean outfit for today before settling with the one hugging his body—a casual, fitted black shirt tucked into matching jeans. Instead of sneakers, Héctor took out his polished dark grey boots that he wore on special occasions. 

A nervous and slightly disappointed expression crossed his face as he inspected himself. Héctor ran his fingers loosely through the ponytail to quickly air-dry some of the sections that were still wet. He gave a closer look at his stubble and turned his cheek both sides for any signs of a shave. 

“If your future wife is coming in, better make sure you capture her attention,” he uttered to himself. His lips pursed together while his eyes surveyed over every detail of his look. Héctor tilted his head aside and gave a small sigh. “Well, if she was kinda into you with that last-minute look before, then she should be okay with this one.” He struck a pose in the mirror. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna look good for her.” And with self-approval, he blew himself a kiss. “Hola, Imelda!” He smiled at the mirror. “It’s good to see you again! I hope you like the CD.” 

With a new spring in his step, Héctor spritzed cologne over his neck and smiled at the scent. Within his extra twenty minutes, the irresistible smell of fresh chilaquiles simmering in the pan filled the kitchen. Héctor stirred at the food with expertise and turned off the heat, scooping breakfast into his own bowl. He took a small bite and melted at the delicious flavors dancing on his tongue. 

One of the biggest misconceptions people had about him was that he had no idea how to cook. Most people (Ernesto and Gustavo) look at him and think he would burn the apartment building to ashes with any attempt to put a meal together. That was mostly true if he wasn’t careful, but there were several dishes that he mastered with the thanks of his Mamá. He wasn’t the best chef, but he knew a few basic skills and years of making his signature dishes—migas, chilaquiles,  _ not  _ chorizo, and a few others that didn’t require overnight preparation or structured steps. But he was trying to tackle a mole recipe that was close to Mamá’s.   

He swallowed down his meal with fresh coffee and saved the rest of the food for Ernesto when he woke up. Excitement fluttered in his chest as he came closer to powering through this work day. 

“I can’t wait to see her.”  

* * *

“You’re sure she didn’t come in yesterday or Tuesday?”

“I don’t know, Chorizo! Stop asking!” 

Héctor pouted and leaned on his elbows over the counter dramatically as the clock struck 4:30 in the afternoon. “I thought she might come in today…” 

“What does she look like anyway?” 

“Big, beautiful eyes, dark wavy hair and this fierce personality—Dios, she’s the most gorgeous girl I ever saw.” 

“Too vague, Héctor,” Gustavo blurted. “I see a bunch of pretty girls that walk in here every once in a while. Maybe she came in, maybe she didn’t. She could be  _ any _ one of them.” 

“But she’s not! She’s one of a kind!” 

Gustavo made a face before turning away to occupy himself. “Whatever you say, weirdo.”  

Héctor sighed and rubbed his hands over his face in frustration.  _ ‘I should have brought up the concert sooner! Stupid, stupid, stupid!’  _ He had the perfect opportunity to set up another meeting with her this weekend and he ended up blowing it. If only he thought of it earlier or blurted it out right before she had to leave, instead of stumbling over his words. Why couldn’t he be bolder like Ernesto? He had the chance to seize  _ his _ moment and he wasn’t even sure if he’d get another one. Regret seeped into his bones as he replayed Monday afternoon over and over in his head like an Old Hollywood film spinning through the camera. Maybe he could ask that Angel girl who was into Ernesto—

“Héctor!” 

“¿Qué?” 

“Stop thinking about your girlfriend! Ernesto is on the phone—wants to talk to you.”

Héctor rolled his eyes and dragged himself over to the back, reluctantly holding the phone up to his ear. “¿Qué hubo?” 

“Just making sure you didn’t forget about rehearsal tonight, amigo,” Ernesto explained. “We’ll be on the rooftop tonight since we can’t use Armando’s garage.” 

“That’s fine,” Héctor said flatly. He nodded and gave simple responses as his friend continued to blabber on about small rehearsal and concert details. The stressful reminder of their upcoming weekend concert invaded his thoughts of the beautiful Imelda he hoped to see today, and he allowed them to push her away for the remainder of the night. 

With no way of contacting her, he could only hope he would see her again soon. 

* * *

Imelda stifled a yawn in response to the musical chaos drowning out on the stage. Her eyes scanned the crowd of enthusiastic listeners clapping and cheering at the mediocre performance. She had heard better and felt content sitting on the sidelines at the bar. For her first thirty minutes there, a few men were directly turned down; each of them giving her hope that one would be a special, long-haired musician she met at the record store. Frustration bubbled and almost doubled over as she sat slouched against the bar counter, tapping her fingers across the semi-beaten wood—a glass of Cola sitting half-drunk beside her. 

_ ‘This is a waste of my time. I should just go home. He’s not going to be here.’  _

She sighed and took a sip from her glass, savoring the refreshing sensation of pop tingling in her throat. Her head perked up as a few familiar faces resurfaced. “Did you like this one?” 

The girls shrugged. “It was alright. The lead singer is only good-looking from afar.” 

“Ahhh, I see,” Imelda hummed, taking another long sip. “Kind of like your Enrique dude,” Imelda smirked. 

Angelina rolled her eyes. “It’s Ernesto and he _ is  _ hot, ‘Melda.”  She ignored her friend’s eye roll as she fumbled with her purse. “Aren’t you going to come dance with us?” 

“This isn’t my kind of music…” Imelda looked down, avoiding eye contact with the girls. She could tell they were enjoying themselves and letting loose while she sat on the sidelines almost miserable and heavy. They wouldn’t want to hang out with a girl who ruined their fun for the night. “...I might go home.”  

“Ahh no, you’re not leaving,” Camila said firmly. “Not after we got these tickets.” 

“I’m just tired, that’s all!” 

“First of all, these tickets are all sold out, so we are going to enjoy this pinche concert.” 

Imelda groaned and went back to scanning the crowd for her musician. Maybe she could wait another thirty more minutes just in case he liked to show up later…

“Who are you looking for?” 

“Hm?” 

“I said who are you looking for?” Angelina repeated. 

“No one,” Imelda answered quickly and she cursed herself for the small crack in her voice. Heat rose to her cheeks when she heard her friends go from silent to squeals in a few seconds. 

“You’re looking for your man!” 

“I’m not! I’m over it!” 

“WHAT?!” They shrieked. “Why?!” Angelina and Flor sat on the seats beside Imelda, leaving Camila by herself, so she propped herself on Flor’s lap. “Did something happen?” 

“Nothing happened, that’s what.” 

“Ay,  Camila, you’re really thick—that doesn’t mean you have to give up on it,” Flor pointed out, holding her friend by the waist to keep her from sliding off. “It didn’t even start and you’re already passing him up?” 

“Well, I also don’t want to waste my time chasing after a guy and the timing never works out.” 

“We can go and visit the record store again and reacquaint both of you, chica.” 

“He wasn’t even there on Wednes—” Imelda gasped as she realized what she was about to say, but it was too late. Their eyes were bigger than the moon and they were not going to let it go. 

“You went— _ ohmygod _ —no manches, you went to see him on Wednesday?!” 

How could she have let it slip out?! They shouldn’t be grilling her about her disinterest in Héctor! She knew she slipped the truth out whenever she got caught up in the moment, and this was no exception. There was no way this could get any worse than it already was. 

“Awwww our Imeldita likes him!” 

“I went back so I could pay Héctor back for the—” 

“Thought you didn’t remember his name,” Flor jeered and Imelda wanted to sink into the floor for the rest of the night. 

_ ‘Mierda! Get it together, Imelda!!’ _

“The universe has spoken,” Angelina announced. “You’re getting married to  _ Héctor _ and we’re going to help make that happen AND we are having fun tonight, whether he’s here or not. Bailemos.” 

“Fine, I’ll stay, but let me just chill here for twenty minutes,” Imelda conceded. All of the girls in their group were stubborn in their own way; it was a surprise they all managed to get along. At this point, she was overpowered three-to-one. 

“Oh, since you’re going to be here, can you watch my stuff?” Flor asked, tossing Imelda her bag. 

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Imelda settled it over her lap with her purse rather than dumping it on the floor. If she hung it over her chair, someone might take it, so it was safer if she just held onto it. 

“Gracias!” And she watched them disappear again into the swarm of dancers and loiterers. Her eyes caught a new band setting up on stage, but the dim lighting in that area made it hard to recognize anyone up there. There was some light background music playing to keep everyone entertained and swaying as the next group prepared, but Imelda lost her streak of curiosity when it seemed like forever until fresh music blared at them. She turned in her chair to face the bar, poking the ice cubes with her straw. The bartender floated back to check if she wanted a refill or something stronger, and she politely declined. 

Her ears caught a new melody of guitar, bass, and some conga drums begin to play behind her, but she paid no attention to it. It sounded different and seemed like it would transition into a strong hook. Part of her wanted to turn around and look out of curiosity, but she was still too focused on hooking ice cubes with her straw.  _ ‘I’m sure I’ll see him again someday _ — _ even if it’s not the concert,’ _ she contemplated and frowned when her ice cube fell off the straw. 

_ “Imelda!” _

She whipped her head at the faint sound of her name echoing behind her, eyes looking for her friends in a sea of people. Did they call her name? Was she just hearing things? Then waving arms in the center of the crowd attracted her focus at Camila and Angelina shouting something and pointing somewhere. Imelda squinted her eyes, trying to read their lips. When that didn’t work, she stood up and took a few steps closer trying to catch a few of their words. 

“QUÉ?!” What the hell were they pointing at and getting worked up over? It’s not like anyone could see much on the stage. The music was also beginning to escalate and she wanted to hear what they had to say before it got too loud. 

“IT’S—”

“QUÉ?!” 

“...HÉCTOR!” 

The lights went on and Imelda almost dropped the bags. A loud roar of cheering erupted from the audience—particularly girls when she saw  _ Enrique _ standing next to Héctor, but her eyes were locked on  _ him.  _

She melted at the joyous and excited smile lighting up his face as his fingers strummed against the guitar. He looked so different and so...alive when he stood center-stage and played for the crowd. This was Héctor, but also someone so much more that she didn’t see when they first met. The way he shifted and moved around the stage felt so natural and Imelda couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. 

Héctor still wore his hair in a low, loose ponytail with a few strands sweeping across his forehead. But he swapped out his casual t-shirt and jeans with a fitted shirt, dark jeans, and a maroon-red flannel. It fit his thin frame in all the right places and Imelda almost swooned at the rolled sleeves of his jacket. She also noticed a small, almost tribal looking necklace around his neck and thought it was an interesting touch.  

Suddenly, a hand grabbed her wrist that wrenched her from the daze and she realized it was Angelina pulling her into the crowd. Flor snatched back her bag and slung it over her shoulder as they wormed their way to the center, catching a perfect view of the band. It was more claustrophobic in the center, but Imelda found she was willing to put up with it just to watch Héctor play. Hips bumped against Imelda’s in rhythm to the music and she couldn’t resist the music starting to flow through her body. She followed it and slightly bobbed her head as the song began to transition into its opening. 

_ Señoras y señores _

_ Buenas tardes, buenas noches _

_ Buenas tardes, buenas noches _

_ Señoritas y señores _

_ To be here with you tonight _

_ Brings me joy, que alegria _

_ For this music is my language _

_ And the world es mi familia _

_ For this music is my language _

_ And the world es mi familia! _

Imelda couldn’t help but get lost in his song — the one he told her about — but especially his voice. The way he dipped his voice to be deep and elevated it a bit higher had her imagining the different ways he could whisper sweet nothings into her ear to get what he wanted, and she’d like it. He was a multi-talented musician and he didn’t even mention his excellent singing skills? She felt a bit cheated, but more drawn to him since he hadn’t boasted or exaggerated his talent like his partner did. She observed the one she turned down a couple days earlier and he fell flat. 

_ ‘Just a pretty face with an average voice.’ _ All he did was blink his eyes at the group of women, smile, and wink at them suggestively throughout the performance. He could barely carry out the song without flirting with girls. 

Imelda stopped wasting her time on him and became hypnotized at  Héctor. She caught the way he gripped the mic and belted out his voice with such passion and love for his music. When he looked out into the crowd, Imelda saw how focused they were and it seemed like he wasn’t playing for an audience—he was playing for someone. And yet, even in a dazed state, she felt the joy he poured into this performance and his happiness. Then he closed his eyes and his fingers strummed over the right chords perfectly and with mastery—fast and slow at times to make her heart dance; the juvenile yet mellow beat brought her into a nostalgic and familiar atmosphere. Imelda’s eyes glanced over at his guitar and noticed a few faded stickers and a small purple flower that looked new. She wondered how long he had the guitar and what memories it carried with him—happy, sad, anger...she wanted to learn part of his journey and also share it. 

The song shifted into an instrumental sequence, right before transitioning to a more upbeat tempo for the next song, followed by a chorus of “Ernesto!”s bellowing out from other girls. Imelda rolled her eyes as he somehow ended up shirtless and a louder roar of female fans screaming came after him. She turned to look at Héctor instead, his voice now turning raspy as the song went on, and she'd somehow feel all of her senses waking, so much that she almost shouted for him to take his shirt off too; but decided she was content with the view of him just doing his own thing, enjoying the music—singing louder, jumping or even pulling little stunts with Ernesto. Then his hair fell loose from his ponytail and it bounced around his face with his energetic movements. Imelda’s breath hitched and she  _ kind of _ shrieked with excitement and encouragement as he moved closer to the edge of the stage. At some point, Imelda almost roused up the courage to scream out his name, but her voice got caught in her throat. 

“ESO, HÉCTOR!” An ear-deafening shriek bellowed beside her and she glanced at Angelina in utter embarrassment. But when she turned back to the stage, Imelda noticed Héctor had heard his name and caught sight of her group. His eyes widened when they locked with hers. 

Imelda’s heart couldn’t stop beating so hard when he gave her the biggest and most joyous smile on-stage. She couldn’t help but feel proud that she brightened him more than the performance. She smiled back and he looked like he wanted to drop his guitar right there and jump down for her.  _ ‘Gracias Virgencita, I came out tonight!’  _ But the re-entry of the chorus kept him tied to the audience. 

With their next few songs, Imelda genuinely enjoyed all of them and appreciated the meaningful lyrics that Héctor probably wrote. If anyone deserved fame and recognition, it was this man she was secretly rooting for and maybe liking more. By the end of the solo with their final song, their band received the highest amount of applause and cheers Imelda heard since she arrived and she gave her own wolf whistle. She tried to wave her arms to get Héctor’s attention, but the strong current of people moving in and out was too much to fight against. 

“Let’s go back to the bar!” Imelda exclaimed to her friends who nodded in agreement. They held hands to stick together and navigate through the crowd. 

Just as the girls struggled, so did Héctor the moment their performance concluded. He almost sprinted off stage, occasionally looking among the crowd to find that beautiful face he wanted to see all week. 

“Chorizo! We’re gonna take pictures!” 

“Wait! I gotta find my girl first!” Héctor waved him off as he started to walk among the crowd. 

“What’s he doing?” Ernesto asked, fanning his neck. 

“Finding his chica.” 

“Oh, okay...SEIZE YOUR MOMENT, HÉCTOR! Buenas noches señoritas!” 

Ernesto’s encouragement fell on deaf ears as Héctor fought the crowd. Maybe he should have waited until it died down a bit before just diving in, but what if he lost her again? He wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip away again. Right when he thought he spotted her, he was stopped. 

“You did really good up there!” 

“One of the best ones tonight!” 

Héctor laughed softly. “Aw, muchas gracias. I’m glad you enjoyed our music. Just one moment, I’m trying to find someone.” 

“Of course, of course! But could we take a photo with you?” 

“Erm-bueno.” He stood beside the girl and her friends as someone quickly took the shot. What was nice about this group was they noticed how eager he was to do his own business, so they thanked and complimented him once more before letting him go. 

“‘Melda, where are you?” he muttered to himself, turning his head in several directions to find any tangible sign of her. If this was meant to be, he sent a quick prayer to some higher entity for a sign, anything! He remembered some kind of deal he made with God last time and he was prepared to roll another one out. His gaze went from one of the tables and then over to the bar, where a few arms were waving at him. Settled in between a small group of girls was her. With his heart racing, he shuffled over to them as quickly as he could. 

“Hola!” he greeted, chest heaving and a few beads of sweat forming at his forehead. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, combing the loose strands out of his eyes. 

“You were increíble up there!” 

“Your performance was BOMB! You’re an amazing singer!” 

“The music was so fun and catchy, it’s too bad you guys couldn’t perform longer!” 

The wave of compliments from the girls sent blood rushing to his cheeks faster than when he jumped around with Ernesto. For a moment, he didn’t know what to do with himself, but it didn’t stop his confidence from shooting up with their smiles beaming back. “Gracias, gracias!” He grinned, leaning his free hand against the back of a chair. His eyes flickered amongst all the girls, but his gaze kept returning to Imelda. He didn’t stare for too long but he couldn’t help but take in the beauty standing so close to him again. “It’s so nice to see all of you! Are you ladies having fun?”

“Sí, and your performance was the best so far!” Angelina exclaimed. “Ven, ven, siéntate.” She edged to another seat and gestured at the available one beside Imelda. 

“Está bien.” He waved his hand, hitting himself mentally for trying to play things cool. “You can all sit down together. Have you been here for a long time now?”

“About an hour” Imelda answered, pushing some hair behind her ear. 

“Imelda almost went home, until you went up!” Camila revealed, ignoring the silent daggers Imelda shot her. 

“En serio?” Héctor glanced at Imelda curiously. 

_ “Almost,” _ she reiterated with a cool air. “But I’m glad I stayed.” 

Héctor opened his mouth to say something, until one of the girls cut him off. “Since you’re done performing, where’s the rest of your band? We wanted to meet some of them tonight too.” 

“I think they’re taking a few pictures by the stage. They should still be there.”

“Oh, we’ll go and get a picture with them!” Camila and Angelina looked at each other before sending a telepathic message to Flor. At first, confusion crinkled on her brow until she realized what was happening and she quickly followed with a knowing smile.

A brief awkwardness settled over between the couple, neither glancing at the other directly in the eyes. Héctor sucked in a breath when his eyes travelled over Imelda’s fashion choice. She rocked a white one-piece tucked into faded jeans cinched with a black belt and leather boots. These clothes fit her body perfectly and wasn’t too much or too little (Héctor also noticed a jacket hanging loosely on the other chair), and he didn’t mean to lose his breath. He flickered his gaze elsewhere—scanning the crowd, bobbing his head to the background music—anything to show he wasn’t looking at her like a piece of meat.

“I really love your music.” Imelda’s voice cut through his thoughts and he whipped his attention to her. “Your band did really well, especially you.” 

“Muchas gracias.” Héctor’s eyes softened and he wiped some of the sweat of his brow with the back of his hand. “That's a bit too flattering, cause I’m still improving, I'm not  _ that _ good—” 

“No,” she cut him off firmly, but not unkindly. “You’re an extremely skilled musician, singer, and songwriter. How many artists out there juggle as many talents you have?” Imelda gave him a sharp look and rather than back off, his smile widened with an innocent charm. 

“Well, I thank you with the entirety of my heart.” Héctor did a little bow, hand twirling into an open palm before he placed it over his chest. Imelda rolled her eyes, but couldn’t completely smother the giggle he managed to catch. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you also can sing?” 

He chuckled softly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Eh..I must have forgotten” he answered, half-sheepishly and apologetically. 

“I’m a little mad that you kept that a secret from me, you know?” Imelda narrowed her eyes a bit and gave a subtle pout. 

“Oh no, I made the prettiest girl mad.” Héctor’s cheeks almost turned beet red and his heart dropped into his stomach. 

“Hm?” 

“Uh, I said I’m sorry I made you mad” he corrected, visibly sighing with relief as she accepted his answer. 

_ ‘Thank you whoever strummed that electric bass.’ _

Imelda leaned forward and smacked his arm softly. “I’m just joking. But I was really surprised to see you guys up there because I didn’t expect to see you performing. And,” she paused a bit, glancing down, “since it was impressive, I’ll take your apology.” 

Héctor laughed and rubbed his wrist. “Qué graciosa...ah, makes me happy and overwhelmed that so many people enjoyed it.”

“Pues claro, you deserve it.” 

“But also, don't you have a talent that makes you feel overwhelmed sometimes?” 

Imelda leaned back a little surprised and pondered the question. No one had ever asked her that before. She had her own set of hobbies and goals in life, but her mind blanked when she tried to grasp at her answer. As she collected her thoughts, her gaze drifted to his boots and she trailed up, admiring the way his shirt moved when his chest heaved. A subtle layer of sweat glistened around his collarbone and his loose hair combed back with his fingers. It looked even better when he tumbled past his shoulders and Imelda itched to run a curious hand through— _ ’Focus, Imelda!’  _

What did he ask? 

‘Oh, my talent,’ she answered to herself. What was she passionate about that made her overwhelmingly full? 

_ “Ayyy ay ay ay! Imelda! You’re killing this song!” _

_ “You sang it better than the original, amiga!” _

_ “You were chulísima!” _

“I’m not too su—” A dry cough erupted from her throat and covered her mouth with her elbow. “Excuse—me—” 

“Do you need a drink? I’ll get you one.” 

Imelda shook her head, feeling the last of the sudden coughs dying down. “No, no, está bien...I didn’t eat yet, and I don’t want to drink on an empty stomach.” In reality, she didn’t want to risk getting drugged and waking up without her clothes in some terrifying motel room.

“I can get you some food!” 

“No, it’s okay. You already gave me your lunch last time, so don’t feel obligated to buy a poor chica dinner.” 

“I don’t have to pay.” He shrugged and leaned into the counter, to which Imelda raised a brow. 

“What do you mean you ‘don’t have to pay?’ Nothing is free, you know.” 

“Lots of things can be free! Laughing, smiling, kindness—ow!” He put his hands up to defend himself from the non-threatening smacks laid against his arm. 

“Making me mad is also free too, huh?” Imelda added.

“Sí, it is—ow! Ay, okay, okay!” Héctor laughed as he surrendered and rubbed his arm. “You got a sense of humor and some good punches!” 

“Of course I do,” Imelda agreed, swishing her hair behind her shoulders and secretly hoping Héctor found that at least cute. “ Pero ya en serio, you don’t need to buy me food.” 

“I told you, I don’t have to buy it. My friend owns the place so he said whenever my band performs, we get free food and drinks.” 

“Oh, well…” Damn, he found her weakness. 

“The food is really good and so are the drinks,” Héctor added. “And it’s always nice to share good food with good people.” 

_ ‘Fuck, he sold me.’ _

“...Alright. What is your favorite thing from here?” 

“Hmmm...the nachos are good, especially when you’re drinking. Is there anything you don’t really like to eat?” 

“Seafood.” 

“Perfect, I know exactly what to get us.” Héctor grinned and turned to the counter. He let out a hard whistle.  _ “¡Oye, Juan!” _

“Héctor! Dígame!” Another man came out from the side, adjusting his watch. 

“Two orders of my regular,” he replied coolly. 

“What regular?” 

“You know—” Héctor almost stuttered, until Juan started laughing. 

“I’m just kidding! Chill out, amigo. Two orders of the regular, is that it?” Héctor’s friend glanced over to Imelda. “Anything else, señorita?”

“Nothing else.” 

He gave one last look at Héctor before smiling, raising his eyebrows and walking to the back. 

“Make it good!” Héctor exclaimed. 

_ “Only the best, loser!” _

“Ay, this compa…” 

“How did you do that?” 

Héctor looked back at Imelda. “Hm? Do what?” 

“That whistle you did. I never met anyone who can do it without fingers.” 

“Oh! It’s easy! Just push your tongue against the bottom teeth and keep your top lip a bit folded.” Héctor straightened his posture and leaned forward to demonstrate, much to Imelda’s amazement. “Then you kinda make small ‘o’s in the center and push air out.” He created the small ‘o’s and released a perfectly pitched whistle. “Wanna try it?” 

An almost skeptical look crept on Imelda’s face and she opened her mouth to say no. But instead, “Alright, how do you do that ‘o’?”

Héctor perked up with a childish glee that melted her heart and made the effort worth it. He pulled himself into a chair, feet secured onto the bar and knees angled out. His lips folded dramatically and a laugh burst out of Imelda. “Okay, push your tongue on your bottom teeth and then keep the top lip folded.” 

She followed his instructions and a small tinge of regret began to weigh on her shoulders. Why did she even agree to this? She felt unnaturally strange trying to contort her tongue just for the sake of some cool whistle. Héctor was probably teasing her in his head and wishing he had a camera to document the silly face she was putting on. 

But he never laughed through his smile. 

“Alright, now just blow out!” And another confident whistle rang out. 

“Pfffthhhhh!” 

“That wasn’t too bad!” 

“That wasn’t even a whistle!” 

“It's okay. It’s not easy to get it on the first attempt. Let’s try again.” 

“Fine...Pffffthhh!” Their faces curled into smiles, both gasping for air, hands on their stomachs, and loud fits of laughter erupting. “Stop making me laugh!!” 

“Your face…” Héctor tried to say, but it was no use. Every time either tried to say something plausible, their words translated into more bursts of laughter that became quieter and quieter as the amusement intensified. 

“¡Ya párale! It’s not funny!” Imelda weakly slapped at him, but missed. Her abdomen muscles started to hurt, but she didn’t care when she was having fun with him and that’s more than what she expected tonight. 

“It was...cute.” Héctor finally managed a few minutes later. “It wasn’t because you looked funny, really.” 

“Anda, don’t lie to me!” 

“I’m not! I don’t want to make you mad again!” He contended and they settled into a relaxed bubble with each other. 

“Ayy, Héctor…” She looked up at him again when she caught a small gasp from him. His hand rested over his chest and she could have sworn small fireworks were bursting in his eyes. “What?” 

“You remembered my name.” He beamed down at her as if it touched his soul, and a subtle warmth washed over her heart. Her cheeks started burning under his gaze and she racked her brain to think of a cool comeback. 

“Sí, I did. Do you remember mine?” 

Héctor gave her a cunning look. “I’m not sure. You never officially told me.”  

“I think you know my name,” she challenged. 

“I don’t.” 

“My friends happen to say it in every other sentence.” 

“Is it…” Héctor’s voice dropped a bit more quietly and he leaned forward, as if to tell her a secret meant for her. Imelda didn’t realize she tilted closer to him, until she could hear his voice and not the background music. She nodded her head in encouragement and the first syllable started to roll off his tongue. “Iiiiiii....” 

“Go on.” 

“Iiiii...mmmm…” 

Imelda almost smacked him on the top of his head. He was dragging this out and teasing her! How could he tease her and be cute about it at the same time?! Then that small voice popped up: 

_ ‘Because you like when he does that.’ _

“Mmmmm…”

“Ay, it’s Imelda!” 

“It’s what?” He repeated with a sly smile. “I want to hear it again.” 

“Imelda! Are you deaf?!” 

“Ah, mucho gusto, Imelda.”

_ “Hey, Héctor!”  _ A new voice shouted from behind him, and the couple focused their attention on the small group of guys approaching. When Imelda squinted a bit, she realized it was his band members and a shorter one that didn’t perform on-stage. But she remembered his face from earlier in the week.  

“So this is where you’ve been,” one of them said, patting Héctor on the shoulder. 

“Hehe, sí…” 

“Who’s your friend, Chorizo?” 

Héctor rolled his eyes, but leaned back so he wouldn’t block her. “This is Imelda. ‘Melda, these are the other guys in my band: Armando, Gabriel, Samuel—”

“You can call me Sammy.” 

“And...Gustavo? Wait, what are you doing here?”

“You’re not the only one with friends around here,” the shorter man retorted to Héctor’s eye roll. 

“Anyway, this is my band,” Héctor finished, turning to see her reaction. 

“Mucho gusto,” she responded with a curt nod. 

“Mucho gusto,” the group parroted. 

“So what are you doing besides sitting?” 

“We’re waiting for the food. Do you want to order some too?” Héctor looked up at his friend. 

“Sure, did you get drinks too?” 

“No.” 

“We’ll get a round then.” 

“There’s no space for all of us, but we can go get a table,” one of the band members noted, looking around for an open spot. 

“Ah, true—” 

_ “Héctor!” _

“Who’s—oh—Imelda, last but not least there’s my best friend.” 

She craned her neck trying to place a face to whatever name he would spew. Curiosity gnawed on her insides—Héctor was a kind and fun-loving soul, so he must have a strong awareness for good people. Imelda sat in her spot, slightly excited and patient as a man began to make his way through. 

Once he surfaced, her eyes widened at the man coming to stand beside Héctor. 

“This is Ernesto. And ‘Nesto, this is Imelda.” 

_ ‘You?!’  _


	3. National Treasure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beautiful art by the talented Ale!

_You’ve got to be kidding me.’_

Ernesto could have sworn he felt his eye twitch slightly and smile begin to waver at the girl casually slouched in her seat. Out of all of the women in the world, Héctor might have a chance with another rising starlet who could boost their careers. Or even a music producer at a small record studio who would easily recognize their one-of-a-kind talents! So many endless possibilities, and he wanted to hook up with cow hips girl? Oh, por Dios…

“Hola.” He got his bearings and extended his hand out to her politely. “Mucho gusto.”

“Ah, sí,” Imelda replied stiffly, accepting his hand and giving a surprisingly soft, yet firm grip. Ernesto imagined briefly her ripping it off with an inhuman strength that would horrify everyone standing nearby. But he managed to keep his hand and kept it to his side…no reason.

“Hmm, you seem really familiar. I think I’ve seen you somewhere,” Ernesto said, head tilted.

“Really?” Imelda leaned back in her chair and nodded. “I’m sure there are lots of girls you’ve seen before.”

“No, let me see…”

“Anyway,” Héctor tried to cut in, “We were just—”

“‘Oh, I know! You’re the girl who came into the store _twice_ looking for Héctor.” The look on her face and his best friend’s made this moment worth it, and Ernesto mentally patted himself on the shoulder for it. _‘That’s what you get for rejecting me, bruja.’_ He could see the invisible fire raging in her eyes and cheeks darkening, even with the mediocre lighting. Luckily, they were all in a public space so she wouldn’t get away with murder with too many witnesses around them. If he turned his head to look at Héctor, his mouth should be hanging slightly and....yes. It was.

Héctor glanced between Ernesto and Imelda. “Wait, y-you came in to...look for me?”

“I-uh...sí.” She sent a small glare at the husky man standing beside him. “I came in to pay you back for the CD.”

“Oh, no te preocupes! I told you it’s yours.”

 _‘Wait, you didn’t make any sales?!’_ Ernesto tried to ask telepathically, but Héctor wasn’t getting the message when his brain had shifted back to her again. His elbow made light contact with his shoulder and he expected a glare or a glance.

“Ow!”

“¿Estás bien?” Héctor turned to him, glancing down at Ernesto’s calf—tone too sugary to be sincere. He moved his leg closer to him after “accidentally” kicking the leg of the chair.

“Yeah...just a major _cramp_ in my shin.” His eyes narrowed back. “Probably from running too much.”

“Unfortunate,” Imelda commented with a smug smile. “Hope it gets better.”

“Gracias,” Ernesto hissed.

“Oye, Héctor,” one of their band members said, patting his shoulder.

“¿Qué pasa?”

“We gotta check in with Claudia, so we can’t sit down and eat.”

“Well, I already got my food and I can’t walk around eating with a fork and knife over my plate.”

The guy rolled his eyes. “Fine, come find us when you finish then.”

“Okay.”  Héctor waved his hand and shifted in his seat, not paying attention to his group melting into the crowd again. “Ernesto, are you eating anything?”

“Chips and salsa.”

Héctor sent him a look, then glanced at Imelda who shared the same one. “That’s not much...maybe you can get some chicken…?”

“I’m on a diet, remember?”

“Oh, I didn’t think you were serious about that.”

“Sí, I was because I need to get in shape for summer,” Ernesto said with pride. He gently patted his stomach for more emphasis on his figure.

“Summer is five months away. Can you actually follow it for that long?” Imelda pointed out.

“It’s all mentality,” Ernesto pointed to his temple, “and I will make it because we need to take photos for our album cover.”

“Hm, buena suerte then.”

“I don’t need lu—”

“¡Oh, Ernesto!”

“¿Sí?” He turned around, searching for the face to that woman’s voice. “Ah, I _know_ you! Ángela, no?”

“ _Angelina,_ but close enough. Hola, Héctor!” She smiled back at him and gave a flirty wave of her fingers in his direction, before quickly eyeing Imelda. The way her friend glared at Ernesto was enough to pick up on the message. “Bailemos,” she urged, looping her fingers through the larger hand and pulling gently toward the dance floor. “Come have some fun. I have two other friends who want to meet you.”   

Ernesto’s eyes already glazed over when this fine girl took the lead. His mind completely forgot the girl sitting beside his best friend when he heard “two other friends.”

“Have fun!” Héctor exclaimed at the hypnotized man quickly walking away. Angelina turned back to look at them with a sultry, cunning smile. The couple disappeared again into the sea of bodies, leaving Imelda and Héctor alone once more. “Ay…”

“So what did you order? Something poisonous?”

Héctor feigned a hurt look. “I would never feed a woman something that would make her sick. You don’t trust me with the tortas I gave you?”

“Papá always told me never trust anybody.”

“Ah, fair enough. That’s why you’re so smart,” he relented and missed the smallest blush cross Imelda’s cheeks. “But I would never do that intentionally to anyone, especially you. Mamá would have a fit if she ever found out I mistreated a woman.”

Something flickered in his eyes and Imelda was unsure what when he mentioned his mother. Yet as quickly as she saw it, that look also disappeared and his charisma oozed out again. She opened her mouth to say something, when Juan came through the kitchen with two fresh plates of breaded meat, mixed salad, and fries.

“Two of Héctor’s regulars and another Cola for this señorita,” Juan called out as he put down the plates before them, and also a full glass bottle of beer.

“I never ordere—”

“An extra since you’ve sat with him for this long. That deserves a reward.”

“Hey!”

“Shut up. Be grateful she’s still sitting here.” Juan gave a tiny wink at him, before turning back. “Enjoy your food!”

Imelda picked up her fork and eyed it carefully. She glanced at Héctor’s excited expression when he took a sip from his beer and silently urged her to try it. “Milanesa?”

“Yeah! Go ahead, try it and tell me what you think.” He couldn’t stop smiling and didn’t touch his utensils, obviously anxious to see if she would enjoy it. Slowly, Imelda cut small pieces and took her first bite, head immediately bobbing as the flavor softened on her palette. “¿Te gusta?”

“Está buenísima.” She covered her mouth with her hand as she finished the bite and took a sip of her coke.

“Do you still think it’s poisonous?”

“No sé. I’m not dead yet,” she answered back. “You eat, too. I don’t want to be the only one who gets poisoned.”

“At least we’d get to die eating good food,” he joked, taking his utensils and slowly biting into his food as they talked. "Well, buen provecho". How strange he was so excited to eat and when it was here, he was eating as slow as a turtle. “I can’t believe Ernesto was only going to eat chips and salsa. That’s not even filling,” he said aloud, but more to himself.

“Even I don’t eat light foods,” Imelda added.

He looked at her. “You don’t need to. You look very healthy.”  

“Oh...gracias.”

"I like when girls love to eat well." Imelda took the compliment with a grain of self consciousness. Did he mean to say she wasn't as thin as other girls? Maybe, and if so, that wasn't a bad thing, but she couldn't help to look down at her own plate and notice she was almost halfway done with her meat, while Héctor hadn't taken more than a few bites. Maybe she should slow down too so she didn’t look like she was stuffing her face.

“Is something wrong with your food?”

“Huh?”

Imelda tapped his plate with her fork. “Your food. Is something wrong with it?”

“Uh, no. Why?”

“You’re barely eating it.”

Héctor looked at her plate, then back at his. Some cuts of carrots were pushed aside from the rest of his rabbit food. “Ah, it’s nothing. I like mine.”

“You aren’t eating your carrots?”

“Oh, I don’t like raw carrots.”

Imelda gave him a bewildered look. “You don’t?” He shook his head at her, and she nodded. “May I eat yours then?” Immediately, he pushed his plate towards her so she could scrape it onto her food territory. “What do you not like about it?”

“The taste.” Héctor pulled his plate back and began picking at the salad again. “I’ll eat cooked carrots in stews and other things. But I hate raw carrots. And they grated it, so the taste changes.”

Imelda picked at a few carrot strands and slowly brought it up to her mouth, eyes intently looking back at Héctor. He watched her with distaste as she unhurriedly put the carrots in her mouth with amusement. “Mmmm, it tastes very good. Fresh and healthy.”

He shook his head with his lips pursed out. “You can have that.”  

Both of their attention went back to eating for a while, simply savoring the taste and background music blaring around them. Imelda was thankful for it, otherwise there might have been an awkward silence and she didn’t really want to initiate all the conversation topics. Héctor did a fine job doing that naturally and without being uncomfortable.

“So what are your plans for the weekend?”

“¿Qué?”

The only thing with having loud music was sometimes you could barely hear anything when you’re _trying_ to have a conversation.

“What are your weekend plans?”

“Oh!” She wiped at her mouth and took a sip of Coke to hydrate her throat. “I was planning on staying home and cleaning the house. Exciting, no?”

“Very!” That earned him a raised eyebrow. “It’s very responsible and you seem like you have your life together!”

“Not yet,” she countered. “I haven’t even started getting anything together. All I do is work and sometimes go out. What kind of life is that?”

“Sounds like you’re starting on life to me, and that’s not a bad thing.” Héctor stopped cutting at his meat and put his utensils down. “I think the things we want most in life take time and hard work. You seem like you work hard, so all you need is more time and you’ll have everything you want. And going out sometimes is good! Helps you relax and enjoy good times.”

“Surprisingly very wise. Thanks for the advice.”

Héctor swooshed his hair behind his shoulder, just as perfect as Imelda could and rested his face on his hand. “De nada, chica.” He gave a small pout.

Imelda tried to keep her face neutral, but it did nothing to keep the smile off. She grabbed her Coke bottle—wet condensation dripping down the glass—and took a sip to keep from snorting out loud. “So what are your plans for the weekend, amiga?”

Héctor straightened up in his seat and crossed his legs, eyes immediately changing character as he pressed his lips together. “Ok, so I have to go into the store tomorrow because Ernesto messed something up.” His voice sounded convincingly close to a girl if Imelda wasn’t sitting in front of him while he did his impression. He flicked his hand and extended his fingers out in disapproval. Some of his fingers twirled through a strand of curls as he continued talking. “Then on Sunday, I’m supposed to sleep in and watch my friend’s dog. And Ern—querida, why are you laughing so much? Are you even listening to my story?”

Imelda was slouched over against the counter, eyes screwed shut and mouth open with silent laughter. Her form shook a bit from the short breaths, as she tried to gain control over herself. “Stop...doing...that!” When her breathing began to steady down, she combed her fingers through her hair and flipped part of it to the side.

“Doing what?” Héctor squeaked innocently.

“That!”

“This? I don’t know if you noticed, but I think I’m one of you girls now. Didn’t you see how...ay what’s her name? Angelina! Did you see how she told me hi? I think I’m part of your clique now.”

“As if.” She may have rolled her eyes at him, but she couldn’t be mad. Not like this.

“Okay, fiiiiine.” Héctor pouted and tilted his head back, shook out his curls again and cleared his throat. “Alright, Héctor is back now. Gracias for being patient with girl-nesto.”

“Girl-nesto?” Imelda tried not to laugh again. “Who is that?”

“Sometimes Ernesto does some ridiculous stuff and it matches a diva girl. So I created a little persona just for his girl version. I don’t have a name for her yet though.”

“I’m not going to lie, that was badass to see a grown-ass man act like a chick just to make one laugh. You’re really confident.”

“Dios mío, qué graciosa,” Héctor sang in a high voice.

“And your friend, he’s also very...self-confident,” Imelda said carefully, unsure whether to be brutally honest yet or trudge carefully.

“He is. You should see him when he dances.” Héctor looked around to catch a glimpse of his friend in the crowd. “His hip swaying is funny and mesmerizing. You have to see it. Let me find him.”

“I hope this is entertaining.”

“Believe me, it is. Oh! There he is!” He stood up and motioned for Imelda to stand with him. His finger pointed in the right direction where they could see him dancing close behind Angelina, one hand on her waist and a half-drunk margarita in the other hand. He took a long sip and nestled his face along her shoulder while swaying his hips in sync with hers. Angelina took the drink and also took a sip before putting it back in his hand. Imelda’s face brightened up and she stuck her tongue in her cheek at the sight. “Eh, what you think? It’s a little funny, right?”

“He’s exaggerating his hip movements. If he keeps going, he’ll bump her out of this bar with those hips.” She sat back down and took another sip of her Coke. “But he’s not bad.”

“Ay, he’s something,” Héctor muttered under his breath, seating himself again. “Well,  that’s him.”

“He tried to hit on me, you know.” She noticed his jaw clench slightly and body stiffen at her statement, and how he tried to keep his face neutral. For a moment, she expected him to explode about it or get sour; instead he just sighed and shook his head. Then he lifted his head up and gave her a sympathetic smile.

“I’m not surprised.” And he turned back in Ernesto’s direction, sending out a subtle glare. “One of his weaknesses, I’m afraid.”

“I’m glad I turned him down.”

That seemed to lighten his mood a bit. “Really? Why?”

“He’s not bad looking,” she started and knew his face would drop anxiously. “But I don’t care for his personality. He’s too into himself. And he’s not funny,” she answered frankly, avoiding Héctor’s gaze. “We wouldn’t work as a couple.”  

“You’re not wrong, he is like that. That’s where our differences are because sometimes he doesn’t realize how much another person is affected,” Héctor explained and sighed. “But...he’s a loyal friend and even with his shortcomings, he’s like mi hermano.”

“I understand.”

“You know…” And his goofy smile returned, nearly making Imelda melt inside when he looked at her. Soft brown eyes smiling at her with such attention and care. “I think you’re the first girl to ever turn him down.”

“No way.” She rolled her eyes. “Your girlfriend never turned him down first?”

“I don’t have a novia right now,” he admitted softy.

A little cheer went off in Imelda’s head and she bit her lip. “Oh, sorry.”

“No worries! It’s not a big deal. I’m really glad you managed to see past that. It’s just really refreshing to see a girl like you show him he can’t have everything he wants.”

“Claro, I don’t waste my time with men who treat me like an object.” She didn’t mean to sound so aggressive, but it was the truth. And if Héctor was interested in treating her like one, then she would have to suck it up and move on from him. Worry almost creased on her face—what if she just scared him off now?

“Good for you,” he remarked. “It shows how much you value yourself and that’s important. Some girls struggle to see that, but you...you’re so true to yourself.” His voice softened a bit and he took a sip of beer. He coughed a bit before asking, “So...I’m guessing you don’t have a boyfriend?”

“No, I broke up with him a year and a half ago. I don’t need him.”

“Ah, it seems like you’re doing well, but he really lost out big time.”

“That’s not what he said.” Imelda resisted the temptation of releasing part of her temper on him. Her fork jabbed at the meat a bit more aggressively than usual. Better than making poor Héctor get the end of some heated words. “He said I was the one losing out on the relationship.”

“Wow, what a jerk. That’s just...wow...Can’t believe he said that to you,” he murmured.  

“Mmhmm.”

Their stomachs were full and happy, but their fingers nervously tapped against the wood as they tried to talk more. Imelda fumbled with her napkin and began to tear small strips to roll into balls. She racked her brain for another interesting conversation topic besides relationships. What were his exes like? What was he looking for in the future? Was he into her? The more questions she asked herself, the more paper balls she ended up rolling, until her napkin was gone. When she looked over to his side, she noticed he was playing with a couple of the ones she made and flicking it back and forth to himself.

He flicked a ball in her direction.“I forgot to ask earlier…”

“¿Sí?” She felt it tap against her, and she flicked it back to him. Imelda gazed up at him again, ready for wherever this conversation might lead to.

“I was just wondering where you work. It seems like you had a pretty long lunch break last time I saw you.”

“At the La Rosa Mall that’s 10 minutes away from your store.”

_Flick._

“Really? Doing what?”

_Flick._

“I sell shoes just like you do music.”

_Flick._

“That’s bomb. Do you enjoy it?” The next ball went off the table, so he grabbed another one and flicked it toward her.

“Un poco. I’m really interested in the shoe business, so I’m learning a lot.”

“Wow, you’re just more and more fly,” Héctor laughed as he managed to catch the tiny ball. “So dope.”

“I’m sure you músicos tell all your girlfriends that.”

“Pffft, that’s Ernesto.” Héctor bit his lip and raked his fingers through his hair, pulling it back. “So what have you heard about músicos?”

“That you’re…” She wanted to say good with their fingers, but didn’t want to come off easy, “very sensitive.” Maybe if she had more drinks she could let her tongue loose.

“That's fair...what else?”

“That you spend so much time in front of the mirror.”

“That’s Ernesto again.”

“Músicos have amazing hair.”

“Ahhh! Finally a good point about me!” Héctor cheered as he scored another ball from Imelda. “His is better though and...what?”

She blinked back. “What?”

“Were you...staring at my hair?”

“...No.”

“Is—”

_“¡Héctor!”_

He whipped his head back to the voice and groaned. Quickly, he got out of his chair and sat on the opposite side of her. “Hide me, Imelda.”

“Why?”

“Our promoter is gonna make me stand with the band and take pictures for an hour. And I don’t feel like chilling with them, soooooo...hide me? Por favor?” He hunched himself so her smaller frame concealed his long limbs.

“This isn’t going to work,” she said flatly, holding a little chuckle as she saw him struggling to hide behind her.

“My hair looks like a girl, so I think we can make this work.”

“...Fine.”

“Gracias chica!” He perked up and switched into character. “So if you see a short girl with blonde hair, just tell me.”

Imelda coughed into her arm to keep herself from laughing. “There’s one nearby, just lean against the counter.” He did so, but too dramatically like a drunk gringa. Imelda pushed his hair over his face like a curtain and he spit out a couple of strands. As the blonde looked like she was moving closer, Imelda rubbed over Héctor’s shoulder soothingly. His body was so warm beneath her palm and she tried not to think about it, yet it was hard to just sit there silently.  “Don’t cry over him. He’s not worth it. Have another margarita.”

“Is she gone yet?”

“Cállate, Julia. No llores in the club. You’ll feel better after another drink.”

Héctor snapped his mouth shut, but chuckled at the spontaneous name she gifted him. His body shook as if drowning in sobs and adding a few muffled sniffles into his arms as she continued to rub over his spine. “When is she gonna go awayyy?”

“Alright, she’s gone now.”

“¡Perfecto!” He straightened up and skittered back to his original seat. His hand touched over where she massaged him, and a ghost of a smile curled at the corner of his lips. Some strands of hair fell in front of his face and he combed it back smoothly with his fingers, a few curls tangling against the movement. “Wow, you saved my life. I am honored and indebted to you.”

Imelda couldn’t stop staring at the way his hair moved—curls framed along his jawline and fluttering near his eyes when he turned his head. The light hit over part of his locks and made it look silky smooth that she was almost dying to reach out and touch it. Just thick and soft hair that could wrap around her fingers and hands when she kissed him. Dios, when was he going to take her outside away from all this noise and just make out with her?! How nice it would be to pull it back in the middle of a heated kiss and angle him if they were in a dark corner…

“Are you staring at my hair again?”

“Huh?”

“Mi pelo,” he answered amused. “You were staring at it again.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Is there something wrong with it?”

“...no.”

“Is it too long?”

“No.”

“Then why are you staring?” He smiled back at her and bit his lips again. Imelda almost growled—he needed to stop doing that before she pounced on him.

“I was just thinking. Can’t a girl do that in 1990?” But he didn’t give in and just gave her a knowing look, until she caved in. “Fine, I haven’t been up close to a guy with long hair. You probably use a conditioner and then some gel—”

“I just use shampoo,” he revealed innocently.

“That’s it?!”

“Yeah.”

“Stop lying.”

“I’m not!”

“...Can I touch it?”

Héctor blinked back at her a bit surprised, but quickly acclimated to the idea. “Sure.” He leaned forward and let his hair fall to the front, creating a small curtain along the sides of his face.

At first, she hesitated because she didn’t expect him to be so comfortable with her request. Her hand reached out slowly and almost naturally, she felt the soft curls wrap around her fingers. For no conditioner, his hair was unbelievably soft and she cursed the universe for blessing him with such a simple routine. Meanwhile, she required shampoo, conditioner, serum, a short blow-dry session, and some mousse to keep her hair smooth for about two hours. Then she retracted her hands because if she kept doing that any longer, she would just want to brush out his whole mane to spend more time that close to him.

“Satisfied?”

“I guess.”

“Did you want anything else to eat? I can get you dessert.”

“No. Maybe another time.”

He smiled at those last words. “Okay, Imelda.” His fingers began to play with his napkin and mindlessly started to fold it. She leaned forward trying to see what he was doing and wondered what he was making. Héctor didn’t seem like the type who was into origami, but hey, apparently his hair is silk and he only uses shampoo. Then he put all his weight into his right side to cover what he was doing.

“I can’t see with your huge body blocking!”

“You can’t see how I make gold from napkins, it will give away the secret.”

Imelda rolled her eyes. “Fine, Rumpelstiltskin.”

“You need to make a wish for the magic to work.”

“Alright…”

“Did you do it?”

“Sí.”

“Are you sure?”

“¡Sí! Are you trying to make me mad again?”

“And now, you need to close your eyes.” He peeked over his shoulder and met her flat gaze. “It doesn’t work if you don’t do it.”

“Fine.”

Imelda didn’t notice how different the music was when all her attention had been spent on the long-haired músico next to her. A few moments later, she felt him swivel in his seat and the smile in his voice.

“Open your eyes.” She blinked away at the blurriness and noticed something small in his fingers. “Ta-da!”  

Once her vision cleared, she realized it was a detailed paper rose from his napkin.

“Wow, very pretty.”

“Sí, this is a limited edition, one-of-a-kind flower crafted from the cheapest napkin at this bar in only a minute. This treasure is meant to be saved in the national museum, but…” And he extended it out to her, “you can have it.”

Imelda grinned, carefully taking the delicate piece in her fingers. “No one ever gave me a paper flower before.”

“A gift for saving my life,” he beamed.

_“Is that them?”_

Before Imelda could say anything else, Héctor looked out from behind her and waved to someone, prompting her to turn around also. “Hola girls! Did you have fun?”

Only two had returned back to the group appearing slightly exhausted. Their hair got flat, eyes drooped, slight smudging beneath their eye makeup, and not so subtle yawns.

“Where’s Angelina?” Imelda asked knowing the answer already.

“With Ernesto,” Camila and Flor replied in unison.

“Not surprising,” Héctor commented, rubbing his neck. “Are you ladies okay? Want to sit down or have some water?”

“No, está bien. We’re just really tired,” Flor explained. “We actually want to go home early because it was a long week.”

“Oh, okay…” Imelda caught on and she sank a bit in her chair. It felt like she barely had any time with him. “What time is it?”

“Almost 1:30.”

“ _Already?!_ It’s been that long?”

“You don’t have to come with us, if you don’t want to,” Camila clarified. “We’re just letting you know before you think we got kidnapped. Also, we have our car but you don’t.”

“It’s alright if you go home, Imelda,” Héctor said reassuringly. “It would also be safer if you’re with them than some stranger.”

She looked between them and him, and sighed. “Alright, I’ll meet you two in the parking lot.”

“Ok. Bye Héctor! Have a good night!”

“Buenas noches, ladies. Drive home safe.”

Imelda slowly gathered her things—purse, jacket, and wallet—trying to enjoy these last few moments with him. “Well...it was really nice seeing you again, Héctor.”

“Sí, sí, you too.” He looked down and stood when she did, brushing off a few crumbs of chips that stuck to the shoulder of her jacket. “Got everything?”

She nodded and shifted her weight. “Dinner was good.”

“Ah, I’m glad you liked it. There are lots of other good restaurants I think you would like, too. It’s a shame I couldn’t take you there in one night.”

“Another time.” And she smiled at him. Her heart hammered when he leaned in closer, anticipating for his lips to brush against hers. Tonight was not going to be just soft talks and teasing after all—oh. _Oh._ He was just leaning to fix his shirt.

Héctor sucked in a breath. “What time do you finish work on Monday?”

“4:30.”

“Perfect. Do you wanna come in to the store that day? I’ll have a surprise.”

“Hmm, maybe. If you can answer one question.”

“Of course, anything.”

“What days do you work?” Imelda folded her arms and pushed the hair out of her face. “I don’t want to visit Ernesto when I’m looking for someone else.”

“I work Monday through Friday everyday starting next week.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sí. This week was just weird because of the holidays.”

Imelda nodded. “Alright...I’ll see you on Monday then.”

“I’ll see you Monday,” Héctor parroted back to her.

“Oh!” She gasped before walking away. “What do you like to eat for lunch?”

“Uh....anything without raw carrots and olives.”

“Alright, I’ll get you a salad with lots of raw carrots and olives!” He made a face and wrinkled his nose that looked too much like her twin brothers. She smirked and waved. “Bye Héctor.”

“Mucho gusto, _Imelda._ ” It took every ounce of resistance she had left to not smile like a maniac or jump up and down like a child on Christmas. Instead, she gave him one last sultry look over her shoulder to make him remember it. How she couldn’t wait to tell her friends, yet also keep it a secret from them.

“Look who finally came out.”

“Shut up,” Imelda retorted as she went inside the car and put her things on the other seat.  

“Did he kiss you goodnight?”

“No.”

“What’s that?”

Imelda looked down at the flower she continued to hold onto. “It’s a national treasure.”

“He gave that to you?” Camila squealed, trying to turn back for a closer look. “Where’s the ring?”

“Ay, leave me alone!” Imelda held it close to her chest, protecting it from prying hands and curious gazes. As the car started up and moved along its route, she couldn’t stop staring at the small flower and imagining what was to come on that Monday afternoon.

* * *

_“You tried to go after my girl!!”_

Ernesto kept his arm raised to protect his face from the towel aggressively whipped against his shoulder and head.  “I didn’t know she was _that_ one!”

“I told you what she looked like!” Héctor’s eyes flared moreso with every closing step at his best friend.

“No, you didn’t!” Ernesto winced when he felt the wind cut close to his eye. “All you talked about was her hair and eyes.” That answer only seemed to result in more strikings coming down on him.

“Well....but still! You tried to pull moves on my girl and you didn’t tell me you saw her twice!!”

“She’s not even your girlfriend yet!”

“...yet.” Héctor sagged defeatedly, towel hanging loosely on his side now.

“You can have her.” Ernesto shook his head and went to grab his Cola on the table. He appreciated the pleasurable sting, going down his throat—the perfect post-concert drink.  The soft chuckle behind him forced him to turn around and face his long-limbed friend. “¿Qué?”

Now it was Héctor’s turn to shake his head. “You just don’t like her because she turned you down. Big time.” He raked his fingers through the wet hair and pulled it to the side, then gathered his shirt along his arms. They slipped through the gaps before he tugged it down by his neck. “She’s the bomb, ‘mano. You just gotta get to know her better.”  

“Hmm...the more I think about it, the more I believe she’s a bruja.”

“I bet,” Héctor agreed, eyes glowing and a smile crossing his face. “Feels like I’m under a spell…” His face melted into a soft daze gathering every detail about her like the first patch of flowers at the beginning of spring.

“Just one bang, one bang to break that spell,” Ernesto muttered under his breath. He opened his mouth to knock some sense back to him, prepared to roast the bruja, but stopped once he glanced at his friend. Never had he seen him almost radiate with happiness.

Héctor beamed when he was satisfied, content, or excited. He had seen it when he graduated high school and college; when they booked their first tour; when he ate or got to spend time with dogs. But this wasn’t the same.

He was glowing. Because of _her._

Guilt tingled in his chest cavity and he closed his mouth. Why should he take away that happiness when Héctor never got to enjoy it yet? That would be unfair. It’s not Héctor told him who to hook up with or not. They were grown-ass men and deserved to get with whoever they wanted.  

Ernesto let out a soft sigh and patted his shoulder. “Go for it.”

“Huh? Go for what?”

“Your _novia_ ,” he answered dryly. “Who else do you think I’m talking about?”

“Ay, I knew you would come around ‘Nesto!”  Héctor almost jumped up and down like an overactive kid on Christmas morning. “I’m so excited to see her and hang out!”

“Sí, bueno, go have fun with her. You deserve it, amigo.”

“I will.”  Héctor grinned and patted Ernesto on the shoulder. “Ah, gracias for the support. I am a mess without you.”

“I know...that’s a fact.”

“I’m going to seize my moment and make her my novia, you’ll see.”

“Qué bueno…” Ernesto forced a smile and dropped it when Héctor turned around to return to his room.

A girlfriend....ugh! Héctor would never be happy in a committed relationship with _one_ woman. He could have more fun and freedom with multiple women than being tied down. It’s just like that saying—less is more. But he was simply going through a phase with this chick and needed it out of his system. If he kept standing in the way, it would only make Héctor want to stand by her side moreso. He just had to let the urges run its course and support him until he came to his senses. After a few good bangs, his interest would totally fade and he’d realize that he only acted out of desire for her.

Marriage? Ha!

Love at first sight doesn’t exist.


	4. Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Real life doesn't play out the same as in our sweet dreams...but it can be pretty close.

_The bell clanged against the door, announcing her arrival into the musky, dusty room. Open pockets of warm sunlight collided with dim fluorescent lights giving the wooden shelves a more antique appearance. The store seemed smaller than in her most recent memories, but perhaps that wasn’t a drawback. It would make finding him much easier with less territory to probe. A wave of indignation briefly flickered in her mind at the vague recollection of a well-built man and rounded chin. She didn’t bother dwelling on him, and instead harnessed her focus on another._

_“Imelda! You came!”_

_“I’m not flakey,” she responded, crossing her arms in the face of that charming smile. “So you still remember my name?”_

_“It’s burned into my memory, so I’m never going to forget it no matter what.” He tapped his temple and shrugged his hands into his pockets. “Do you remember mine?”_

_“I don’t know, do I?”_

_“Well, I can only show you your surprise if you tell me. I’ll give you three guesses.”_

_“Alright músico. Is it...Enrique?” Why did she even remember that name? It made her shiver and feel uncomfortable sensations._

_He rolled his eyes and almost let out a groan. “Try again, querida.”_

_“Hmmm...Julio.”_

_“No. One last guess.”_

_“I’m really excited to see my surprise,_ Héctor. _” Imelda practically purred his name out and ignored the fact that her tone had shifted into a sultry and provocative tone at his workplace. It was the beginning of her control unravelling and with him, it just didn’t matter_ — _no, she liked it, wanted to release that need when he could keep her wrapped in a safe bubble._

 _“You got it, mi vida.”_ _Nothing elevated her heart rate and body temperature like those two words. The way he had given it to her was comfortably intimate—her ears craved to hear it over and over again, and never tire of it. Her breath hitched when his fingers looped between hers as he led her gently further into the store. She felt small standing beside his looming frame; the feeling heightened with her hand interwoven with his._

 _As they passed several shelves, Imelda’s heart pounded against her sternum, anxious and delirious from his bold moves. In the short amount of time they had been together, the urge to kiss intensified beneath shy instincts. But now they had a direction_ — _figuratively and literally._ _Héctor pulled her into the back of the store, hidden from public view, and both of her hands in his._

_“Where’s the surprise?” She tried to keep her voice while his thumbs drew small circles along her skin._

_Héctor brushed a strand out of her face, leaning a little closer. Imelda almost stood on her toes to meet his lips, but allowed him to soak in her presence. He chuckled, “I don’t really think this is much of a surprise, but there’s something I wanted to do ever since I first saw you.”_

_“Oh, really? What’s that?” She expected him to give a vague or cheesy answer, or tease with a corny joke that would still make her fall for him. But she did not expect her breath to be taken away._

_His arm snaked around her waist and pressed her flush to his warm chest, while his free hand slid up to cup her face and achieve the perfect angle. Their breaths mingled together as they explored the feeling of each other’s lips. Whenever they turned their faces to adjust the angle, his nose bumped along her cheek or nose_ — _an interesting thing for her to notice when her lungs almost screamed for oxygen. She managed to sneak her breaths in when she caught his lips between her teeth and savored the soft hitch in his throat. His tongue glossed over her lips, begging for permission. Imelda wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him and close and allowing him to slip past her lips in a sensual dance._

_She lost all sense of coherence in his embrace and wandering hand exploring just beneath her shirt, warm-calloused fingertips caressing the smooth dips of her hips. Part of his hair fell over her eyes, and she felt an opportunity in her hands. Without any rush, her hand tangled through his curls until she grasped a small fistful and gently tugged back. The erotic groan released on her lips filled her body with a warmth stronger than a summer day._

_“Héctor…”_

_“Mi amor…” His hand began to graze higher, brushing across her brassiere and sending a shiver down her spine. He pulled away and planted heated kisses down the curve of her neck and shoulder. Usually, she would be tickled pink, but the pleasure overpowered any previous discomfort. She let out a soft cry at the sudden arousing pain of his teeth softly biting into her skin_ — _warm from the bite, then a coolness when his tongue ran over the indented crescent-moons. “Imelda...let’s get married.”_

 _“Sí, sí…”  She combed her fingers through his hair and curved into his body as the embrace tightened. “Cariño…” What the hell was she saying? Oh well, she didn’t care. None of it mattered when she was addicted to the high of being this close to him and claiming his lips. Embarrassment dissolved when the subtle nibbling along her neck were signs of him marking her_ — _the more the better so she could show the entire world she was his._

 _“‘Melda...te_ — _”_ _  
_ _“¿Qué?” she asked, voice high and breathless. What was he trying to tell her? Was it what she thought it was? She could have sworn she read the next word on his lips, but just couldn't hear what he was saying. “Héctor, dime.”_

 _“Te_ — _”_

* * *

**_Mreow!_ **

“Hm? What’re you s-ying?” Her half-lidded eyes peered around in a heavy daze. “Where’s my dress? I’m ge-ing married.” A brown blur sat in front of her; the only coherent object in her transitional state. “¿Héctor?” The sleep slipped out of her eyes and began to focus on the soft fluff, revealing not a lanky musician; instead, she was met with a—

**Mreow.**

****

Imelda smothered a groan into her pillow and buried her face there until tingling stars sprinkled across the darkness. When she turned back to face the furry blur, a small part of her held onto a fleeting hope it was a tall man with rich brown eyes glancing back at her. Or if she tried hard enough, she could return on the train of that wishful dream to hear what Héctor was trying so hard to say. Instead, a soft paw prodded against her forearm—dull nails scratching her skin ever so slightly.

 _‘Wake up and feed me,’_ came the demand.

Her body felt heavy with sleep, yet she forced herself to sit up lazily—a yawn escaping between her hands as she rubbed her face gently. It felt too early to be awake and curiosity prompted her to check the time.

_8:37 A.M._

_‘Not too bad,’_ she thought. By the time she got home, showered the remnants of stale cigarette smoke and a late-night concert, and sunk into the bed, the night struck 2:30 A.M. Her circadian clock placed her on an early waking schedule, so there was no surprise she woke up before lunch. But she could savor a couple more luxurious hours if she didn’t have a pet with the same demanding appetite as she. Before she hauled herself out of the tangle of sheets, she caught a new item on her nightstand.

Imelda gingerly picked up the paper rose she received in the early hours of the morning—a national treasure, she recalled. A smile bloomed on her face as she twirled it around in her fingers. Almost on instinct, she brought it up to her nose knowing there was an absent fragrance, but still treating it like a real flower. Inquisitively, she planted it along her right earlobe; a delightful swell filled her when it stayed in place for a moment, but frowned when it soon fell out and landed on her lap. She returned it on the nightstand, careful to keep any edges from folding in.

It was her first gift...no. Not her first. Second? No.

This was her third gift from Héctor.

_‘Lunch, dinner, and this?’_

Wow, he was ahead of her by three offerings and she was still stuck at zero. She didn’t even pay him back for the CD because she fell for the charming “It’s for you” trap. One of the many life lessons Papá taught her was: “Always repay your debts.”

Now was her time to pay back his selfless favors. Maybe lunch or…

**_Gggrrrrhhhhh._ **

**Mreow!**

Well...repaying favors could wait until after breakfast for her and a snarky feline.

**_Mreow!!_ **

“Alright, alright, I’m going! _Dios mio._ ”

* * *

The slightly bitter warmth of coffee slipping down her throat as she huddled on the couch—legs propped along the table—gave Imelda the temporary illusion that everything was in place. Braided hair; clean, moisturized face; a comfortable, oversized T-shirt hugging her; and, a happily fed stomach and cat.

Yes, everything was in perfect harmony. The temptation to relax and convert a potentially productive day into a lazy one creeped up on her. But she quickly cut off the thought before it could fester with a mental rundown of the sweeping, laundry, scrubbing, and cooking that awaited her. Although, it wouldn’t hurt to enjoy one cup of coffee before the day began.

**_Ring! Ring!_ **

Imelda rolled her eyes and scowled at the phone blaring from the other room. It was probably her Mamá checking in because she didn’t call for the last two days. She was the only person who would call her at ten in the morning on a Saturday, and earlier if she slept through her calls. Always asking the same questions and hoping one of them had a different answer.

_“Do you have a novio yet? When will you get married? You’re getting so old. Then you won’t be able to have babies.”_

She resolved to ignore it and let it ring on, until logic argued that scenario was not likely to happen. Mamá would call continuously until she answered, so she might as well deal with it now.

“¿Bueno?” She was prepared to answer that she didn’t have a boyfriend yet, but a familiar, younger voice spoke through the speaker.

“Imelda! Guess what?”

“You slept with Ernesto.”

“Besides that.”

“I don’t know, you tell me! You’re the one who called,” Imelda retorted, grabbing the remote and turning on the television. She muted the re-run episode of last night’s telenovela and rolled her eyes at the annoying characters. It wasn’t like she was going to watch it, but she needed something to fill the background. Her weight leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Ernesto asked you out?”

“No.”

“He’s a lazy hay in bed.”

“N-well, not wrong, but not what I’m looking for.”

“Ay, alright. Get to the point, Angelina! I’m busy.” Imelda glanced at the silent telenovela she had mediocre interest in. It was hard to read their lips, but the glaring eyes between Ofelia and Paula made it clear they were at each other’s throats over some hombre.

“It’s about your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” She protested loudly enough for Pepita to glare at her. “...what is it?”

“I know where he lives.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not!”

“Then what’s the address?”

“I thought he wasn’t your novio.”

“Guess you don’t know where he lives..”

“Calle del Sol #21, Apartamento 512.”

“Hmm, qué impresionante,” Imelda said flatly. “So what?”

“You and I can both hang out at their place and have fun there,” Angelina answered suggestively.

“What do you mean we can _both_ hang out at _their_ place?”

“Héctor and Ernesto are roommates.”

She ignored the tension collecting in her jaw and teeth slowly biting down on her tongue. They were roommates, she repeated in her head. Roommates...Héctor lived with a full-time womanizer under the same roof. Not only does he endure and suffer with him at work or on-stage, but also at home? Either there’s something she missed about Ernesto or Héctor has an incomparable amount of patience and mental strength.

“Is that all you called me for?”

“Yes!”

“Ay, por Dios…”

"You’ll thank me later. Tell me how it goes! I got to go, bye querida!" She blew a kiss through the phone and hung up.

Imelda went through a solid thirty minutes of not thinking about Héctor and Angelina had to break her stride. She took another slow sip from the lukewarm mug nestled in her palm. The next second, she spotted a small, white notepad lounging on the table, almost taunting her like three amigas she knew.

“Hmm.” There was a critical look at her neat, cursive scribbles. “I’m not going to visit him, but...just in case.”

* * *

“I need your help.”

“No, no, no! I’m not helping you with one of your estúpidas ideas again—” Chich began to walk away from the klutz standing in front of him; if he stood there any longer, Héctor would spill out an infinite list of things he needed from him. And that’s the last thing he needed on a Saturday.

“Chich, por favor! I just need something small for Monday and—”

“Is this for a chica?”

“...No.”

“Who captured your heart this time?”

“You don’t know her, but she came in the store this week. But anyway!” Héctor trailed behind like a loyal puppy to its human. “Do you know anything special about Selena?”

“Selena who?”

“Quintanilla.”

“What about her?”

“Do you have any special album by chance?”

“No.”

“Do you have any connections to her?”

Chich stopped in his tracks and shot a critical look at Héctor. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“What? Do you have something?”

“Don’t move, idiota.” Héctor rooted himself in the exact spot he was in until Chich went into the back. He could barely control the fleeting butterflies in his stomach and intense beating in his chest cavity. A thousand possible scenarios flashed through like him being an uncle or former manager to a rising star. Or maybe he had her contact information so Imelda could talk to her over the phone, and he would gladly pay the international costs if the surprise made her over-the-moon happy. What if Chich, his own boss, could set up a real-life meeting?! Héctor victoriously wiggled his hips and did a few salsa moves to his own soft humming, until, _“I said don’t move!”_

He almost dropped dead from the sudden complaint, but instead he centered himself with a hand on the opposite wrist. “I’m not!”

_“Yeah, right.”_

Maybe he should calm down first before jumping to wild conclusions. But it was hard not to play the guessing game when more and more minutes seemed to pass by. Thinking about a nicer topic would help—like how tingly he felt when she wrapped an arm around him and was slightly pressed into his side. He could have sworn there were fireworks going off in his body and a powerful urge to melt into that embrace. _‘I wonder if she felt that too?’_ he pondered. Hopefully she was into him enough where they could end up in a romantic hold for years to come.

The smile fell; he bit his lip; and his eyes lowered to his wrist. What if they were just really good friends who got along, and everything he felt in his heart was one-sided? Imelda can have any man she wants in life; with her fierceness, passion, and gorgeous looks, she could easily make any man fall in love with her instantly. Except Ernesto. A newfound anxiousness began to tickle his bones as he waited longer and longer for Chich to come out. He would need a new distraction soon before he convinced himself he and Imelda were just friends.

“Alright, I’m back,” that gruff voice coughed. Chich hobbled back with his right leg stiffly following; he moved at his own pace to keep pain circuits from spiking in his leg. One hand covered his chest with the “surprise” he had for Imelda. It must be small enough where his whole hand could conceal it. Héctor extended his hand out, but Chich clutched it tighter away from him.

“What is it?”

“If I let you borrow this, you promise me not to let Ernesto see it.”

“Uh-sure, Chich. Lo prometo. He’ll never see it as long as I have it.”

“And second…”

“¿Sí?”

“Let me meet her before you show her.”

“Por supuesto...but, uh...was it that obvious?”

Chich rolled his eyes. “As obvious as Ernesto flirting with two girls at once.”

“Oh…” Héctor gave a sheepish grin, running a hand through his hair.  

“Here.”

Héctor’s eyes widened and his mouth hung open. “W-where did you get this?” A small giggle slipped out from his surprise

“Is it good enough or not?”

“Yes! Yes! Es perfecta!” His long arms encircled Chich into a tight embrace. “Muchas gracias!”

“Let go of me!” Chich grumbled, trying to separate them with his hands before he could inhale another gulp of air. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Lo siento.” Héctor gave a sheepish grin, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just... _wow._ I can really borrow this on Monday?”

“For your girlfriend?”  
“She’s not my girlfriend...yet.”

Chich rolled his eyes. “I’ll give it to you when she comes in.”

“Gracias! I owe you one and—”

“You owe me twenty things now.”

“—I really think she’s going to love this.”

* * *

She wanted to throw her shoe.

The day could not move any slower. From the moment she clocked into work, time passed two hundred times slower than any usual Monday or weekday for that matter. Organizing and preparing the collection of sandals for one of their regulars felt as if two hours slipped away. As soon as the woman turned and walked away, Imelda cheated a peek at the clock. The round face was met with a glare strong enough to crack glass.

_9:30A.M?!_

Three more hours until lunch felt a year away. The seven hours until the end of the day was a lifetime away. On any other day, there was a mountainous amount of work that required her attention and could never be finished by the end of the day. Yet for some strange reason, today felt unusually empty and with little to occupy her thoughts. She was beyond impatient to know what surprise awaited her and—no.

Imelda shook her head, grabbed her clipboard, and maneuvered her way to the back of the store. Who was she kidding? She was Imelda Soledad Hernández! No one could limit her potential, including herself and she certainly wasn’t going to allow herself to waddle in a schoolgirl crush at work! Hard work and success aren’t given to dreamers or the easily distracted—her Papá taught her better than this. She was here to work, not play; so all thoughts surrounding music and Héctor would have to be put on hold.

With a refreshed mindset, she trudged through all inventory checks, unloading new materials, no difficult clients, and recording more shoe orders from a local soccer team. Just like that, she survived another work day without being held back by teenage daydreaming. She glanced back at the clock and heaved a sigh of relief at the last ten minutes remaining. Now she could have a five-minute break.

_“¡Mamá! Papá! I want this one!”_

Imelda could barely catch a break when an excited voice rang in the store. A small girl in her school uniform, no older than four years old, rushed in and grabbed a shoebox. It was a pair of white leather loafers with navy blue satin laces that would perfectly accentuate any young princess. Her young eyes widened in awe at the magnificent shoes in her palm that while she was fixated on them, Imelda was instead intrigued by the little girl.

There was nothing special or out of the ordinary about her that would draw attention from people. But Imelda couldn’t help but try to imagine what if the girl looked like...her. Maybe her child would have her eyes or nose. Before she could indulge further on an imaginary child, a couple entered and stood beside the child.

“This one?” The woman asked, gently taking the shoes out and examining them in the light.

An over excited nod and smile beamed up at her. “Aren’t they pretty, Mamá?”

“Sí, very pretty, amor.”

“You’re sure you want this one? There are lots of other beautiful shoes you can look at.” The man kneeled down and the girl pouted at him.

“Mmhm! I’m going to dance in them all night for you and Mamá!”

“All night? Well, you better make sure they fit so you won’t get blisters tonight,” he pointed out.

Immediately she kicked off her shoes and slipped her feet in—leaping, walking, and trotting. Loud clacks echoed with every bold step she took and a satisfied smile on her face. “These are the ones, Papá.”

“You sure?”

“¡Sí!”

“Alright, if you’re absolutely sure, we’ll get them for you.”

As soon as she heard their approval, the little girl broke out in a short dance. Imelda couldn’t help but giggle at the innocence and joy bursting from her. Even glancing at her parents, a subtle sensation of longing pulled at her core. When the child held both of her parents’ hands while they approached the counter, Imelda’s heart warmed itself inside and out. Imelda’s eyes peered down at the woman’s stomach, realizing there was a growing bump with life within. Quickly, she turned her attention back to the shoes placed cautiously on the counter.

“Wow, those are beautiful shoes,” she commented.

“It’s for my birthday!”

“Your birthday? Is it today?”

The girl stood on her tiptoes to watch Imelda neatly box her new shoes. “Mhm.”

“Feliz cumpleaños. How old are you now?”

There was a shy silence as the girl turned to her parents for guidance. “Tell her, mija,” her mother encouraged with a small smile. Turning to look at Imelda again, four fingers shot over the counter.

“You’re four years old? You’re a very graceful little lady.”

“What do we say, Tina?”

“...Gracias.”

Imelda smiled and presented the box to Tina—her small hands eager to grasp at the present. Thankfully it wasn’t too heavy for her to handle on her own, and she might have protested if Imelda said anything about that. “Have fun in your new shoes.”

“I will!” she beamed, carefully clutching the gift to her chest. “Gracias.”

“De nada.”

With the transaction completed, the couple led their joyous daughter out—smiles on all their faces.

“I’m excited to see your dance now.” Imelda heard the mother remark.

“Me too! I made the dance just for you and Papá! Do you think the bebé will also be able to hear my dance?”

“If you dance loud enough, he might hear and dance with you, too.”  

Even when the small family walked away, Imelda could feel a small (no, bigger) part of herself longing for that same image. Her hand subconsciously rubbed over her stomach in small, gentle circles. She didn’t need anyone to make her happy, but it might be nice to feel loved by a good man and her own child. Her own Mamá envisioned enough marriage fantasies for both of them that she wanted no part in it now. Perhaps that was slowly shifting after seeing such love and happiness between parents and child.

 _‘I’m going to marry him,’_ she had said.

Now it was her turn imagining a future marriage, family, and life. With Héctor. Was there any truth to what she said? Could she seriously see herself being his wife and carrying his children? They certainly got along and connected as it things were meant to be, but...a life with one person?

 _‘This is Héctor, not Fernando,’_ she reminded herself.

He was different and there was something about his goofy, charming face that left her wanting more time with him. Like a reminder, she quickly remembered their meeting she had been looking forward to all day. A smile curled on her face as she got ready to leave.

* * *

Screw walking to the store. It was only ten minutes away, but she would have to walk to and from. Honestly, she was a little tired to put in the physical energy for that. Plus, the winds might mess up her hair that she did not spend extra time on in the morning. Nestled on the passenger seat was a brown bag that made her car smell of meats and spices. She lowered the windows hoping the breeze would ventilate the smell out and not catch on her clothes.

Imelda flipped down the overhead mirror to inspect any minor smudges; she didn’t want to make the same mistake as the first time she was in the store. Her finger ran along the seam of her lips, the balm already absorbing into her skin from an hour ago. For extra measure, she reapplied another layer for the hundredth time of the day. It wouldn’t hurt to have soft, moisturized lips on a Monday.

Imelda sucked in a breath as she walked closer and closer to the store. Her eyes kept side-glancing toward her moving reflection and confidence rose with every step. Now that she wasn’t at work, her brain could scramble at the endless possibilities of what was about to happen today. He had a surprise for her, but what was it? Héctor didn’t know too much about her to formulate a planned event or object.

She caught sight of Héctor through the door and her stomach performed somersaults as her heart clenched. He let his hair down and casually raked part of it to the side—wavy curls framing the left side of his face. He wore a white shirt with the sleeves partially rolled up to his biceps and washed out denim jeans; relaxed and comfortable. His hair shook a bit as he seemed to burst into laughter from a...güera?!

Through narrowed eyes, Imelda could make out a short woman with light skin and silky, golden hair standing beside Héctor and combing _her_ fingers through _his_ hair. The bag crinkled where her own fingers began to tighten; the fiery woman imagining them on the blonde doing her job. _‘What the hell does she think she’s doing?! Why is she even here?’_ Imelda’s cheeks flushed pink—not from blush and definitely not from jealousy because they weren’t even an item yet, but she could feel something shattering like glass inside of her. _‘Why didn’t I leave work sooner? Then she wouldn’t be doing that!’_  

She could see the güerita smacking him across the arm as if she had known him for a long time.

 _‘Can’t she be more original? I already smacked him.’_ Her eyes scanned the rest of the store. _‘Where’s Ernesto? The one time he can be useful and he’s not. He’s so_ — _’_

__

**_Ding! Ding!_ **

Imelda stood frozen in her spot as a man from behind her walked in. As soon as the bells went off, Héctor and that woman turned to look in her direction. She must have been so caught up in whoever this chick was that she temporarily lost her grip on her situational awareness. Part of her screamed that she should run and go home. Logical instinct forced her to hold her head high and walk in as if everything was fine. When she dared to look at him, his smile had brightened and he removed himself from her to meet her halfway.

She softened a bit when he moved quickly to greet her. Yeah, there’s something about him if she can’t stay mad at him for long.

“Imelda! You came!”

“Sí, did you think I’m a flaky person?”

“Wha-oh, no! I’m just really excited you came in today,” he said smiling and biting his lip. “Ven, ven, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

That fiery emotion sparked again as he led her toward the blonde acquaintance. Did he get a girlfriend overnight?! Just because she had lighter skin than she, did he already move on to someone else? Or what if he brought her here on purpose to make her jealous?

_‘I hate men. If this is his girlfriend or a trap, I’m not giving him this pozole I spent three hours making.’_

The blonde smiled warmly at her, body language relaxing against the counter. Several intimidating questions flooded Imelda’s skull as she began to strategize how she would maintain her power in this dynamic. Blondie might be chill now, but Imelda knows a few tricks to keep her in her place—she was ready to win a war against a potential rival.

“So this is Imelda?” Blondie wiggled her brows suggestively at him and smacked his arm with the back of his hand.

Imelda examined them with a critical eye. What did that look mean?! Her body stiffened at the possible realization. _‘Don’t tell me they’re looking for a trio. Por favor, no.’_

He rolled his eyes and swatted a hand back at her. “Sí, this is her. She’s a new friend. Imelda, this is Claudia. She’s our band’s promoter and publicist, and an old friend.”

“Two and a half years isn’t a long time, chorizo,” Claudia retorted and bringing her hand out for Imelda. “I’m sorry about him. Mucho gusto, Imelda.”

“Mucho gusto,” Imelda replied taking her hand and noticing the woman matching her firm grip.

“So you’re the one who managed to hide Héctor from me at the concert?”

“Sí, it was actually pretty easy.”  

‘Well, that’s a big accomplishment because nothing gets past me.” Claudia side-eyed Héctor. “You won’t be so lucky next time.”

“Imelda’s that good,” Héctor affirmed with a smile. “We make a great team.”

“You must be a genius if you can work with him and keep him hidden.”

Imelda almost blushed from the praise. “Gracias.”

“She’s such a mom. Ayúdame,” Héctor said quietly, but enough for Claudia to hear. He shifted closer to Imelda and she could smell that intoxicating cologne playing with her senses.

“More like a big sister!” The blonde woman protested. “I’m not an abuela like Ernesto, but show some respect to your senior.”

“We’re all adults here.” Héctor folded his arms defiantly.

Imelda’s front began to cool down as her gaze flickered back and forth between the duo. They weren’t sending each other romantic glances or messages, or fighting to hold each other’s hands. The more time she spent observing this, the more she began to understand that their bond was more aligned as a brother-sister dynamic. She found herself relaxing further as an outsider peeking into their conversation. Imelda’s temporary drowning in an envious bubble was in vain and she let out a sigh of relief as their bickering continued.

“You’re such a chamaco—barely past twenty.”

“Hey, I turned 23!”

“You’re 23?” Imelda cut in.

“Yeah, how old are you?”

“...24.”

“Really?!” The duo exclaimed, eyes wide and mouths almost hanging.

“Sí.”

“You don’t look like you’re 24,” Claudia remarked with fascination. For a moment, Imelda felt unsure how to accept that comment. Was she trying to say she looked older than her age or younger? “I thought you were 22.”

“Really? I always thought I looked older. You’re the first one to tell me that.”

“Savor those good genes. Don’t age like me,” Claudia confided to her half-jokingly.

“Another reason why she’s the mom of the group,” Héctor added.

Claudia shot him a flat look. “I’m going home. I need to cut out the stress in my life.” She stared the tall musician down with narrowed eyes, before giving Imelda a tired look. “Buena suerte, amiga. Try to have some fun while you deal with this mess.”

“I can do that,” Imelda answered.

“Bye chorizo!”

“¡Hasta la vista, pulga!” Héctor called out as Claudia walked away without turning back. He chuckled when she raised a middle finger above her head moments before walking out the door. The silence beside him made him peer back at Imelda with a raised brow. “She likes when I do that.”

“I’m sure she does...so she’s an old friend, huh?”

“Oh yeah! Always trying to keep me and Ernesto out of trouble. You’ll like her a lot because she’s always roasting him.”

“I liked her when she said I looked younger than my age.”

“I thought you were younger, too…” he admitted softly, and Imelda almost thought he was blushing. She bit her lip in anticipation of what to say next. Would he not date an older woman? His shy demeanor was hard to read and Imelda hated not being able to decipher the vibe.  

“I must be a vieja to you.”

“You’re not old! It’s only a year—no big deal.”

“Alright, whatever you say.”

“¡En serio! Believe me, I’m your friend, Imelda.”

“Funny how all your friends act like they hate you,” she pointed out.

“That’s how we show our love.” He grinned. A rush of warmth went to Imelda’s ears and she tried to keep her breathing steady, despite her heart picking up speed. “Okay, now remember how I said I have a surprise for you?”

“You don’t have one.”

“No! I do have one! I thought you trusted me. Anyway, before I show you, we have to meet someone first.”

“How many people do I have to meet before I see it?”

“Just one. Claudia was just a surprise guest.”

“You don’t have any more surprise guests coming in? Ernesto or your band?”

“Nope, after we meet him, it’s just you and me.”

_‘Does that mean we get alone time? Is he trying to send me a message? Is he going to take me on a date?’_

“...Alright, let’s meet this person.”

“¡Epa! That’s the spirit!”

She followed him with a reasonable distance between them and noticed his hands were fumbling with the edge of his shirt. A curious idea bloomed and she wondered what would happen if she reached out to hold his hand. Oh, well. It ended up remaining an idea until further notice. If she were a few steps closer, she might be able to smell that rich cologne. Angelina wasn’t wrong—men who smell good are attractive.

They walked behind the counter and hidden in the hallway was a short, bald, middle-aged man going through a record binder. _‘Is this his father? Uncle?’_

“Chich! I brought someone in for you to meet!”

The man put down his work and hobbled over to the duo. “Who did Héctor Rivera drag in today?” he groaned lazily.

“Im—”

“Well, not a groupie, that’s for sure” Imelda answered bluntly, almost cheekily.

“Good...Ernesto brings enough of them around.” he said, greeting her boldness with a bit of amusement already.

“I have standards—friendly, original and taller than him and that Gustavo dude Héctor hangs out with.”

“Okay, wait, I do _not_ hang out with Gustavo. He just randomly shows up to things,” Héctor argued.

“ _Original_ , ha ha! So really, who did you drag into my store today?”

“This is Imelda—she came out to the concert on Friday.”

“Did he do a good job or no?”

“Better than the other bands they had.”

“I thought we were the best…” Héctor muttered under his breath.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Imelda warned.  
“Listen to her, kid.” A faint smile flickered on his face.

“Chich! Anywaaaay, Imelda, this is my boss, we call him _Chicharrón._ ”

“Do you all have food nicknames!?” she raised a brow, eyes asking for a logical answer.

“That’s not a bad idea, I’ll call Ernesto ‘carnita’ from now on. I’ll think of something for Gustavo later.” He brought a hand to his chin, looking away in thought. “Here.” His hand dug into his pockets and brought out a set of keys, dropping it carefully into Héctor’s hands. Both shared a silent conversation, until Chich began to walk away from the couple into the store.  

“Thanks!” Héctor exclaimed and received a small handwave. Once he placed the keys into his own pockets, they could hear Chich’s voice bellowing from the front. _“¡Oye! ‘Tavo, name a food you hate!”_

“Alright…” Héctor turned to face her, wiggling his spirit fingers and swaying his hips. “Now are you ready for a surprise?”

“Are _you_ ready?” Imelda parroted back to him, folding her arms and looking up at him with a casual expression.

He grinned like a happy puppy waiting for his food. “Let’s go see it.” His hand briefly touched her back, a warm tingle running through that spot and disappearing the moment he brushed it away. They walked further into the hallway toward the back—lights becoming slightly dimmer and dimmer as they ventured forth.

The setting was eerily familiar to the one to one she had dreamed up a few days ago—faint lights painting the walls, a secluded hallway, Héctor leading the way. Imelda took deep breaths through her nose; a short-term method to ease the excitement building in her body. An electrifying urge shot down from her shoulder to hand demanding that it be intertwined with the man walking in front of her. She briefly swung it close to his, only centimeters away from their fingertips touching, but she stopped herself. _‘He can hold my hand first. Who’s the one giving him homemade cooking anyway?’_  

They ended up at the face of a locked backroom, and the jingling of keys unlocking the door only fed the fire of her internal anticipation. His hand brushed against hers and he turned to make sure she was standing next to him through the darkness, and she knew she caught a small smile on his lips. _‘My dream is coming true!’_ She almost screamed, but thanked her lucky stars that not a peep left her soft lips. After a few moments in a silent room of shadows, the lights flipped on and illuminated an array of instruments delicately organized from almost every square inch—guitar cases, violins, cellos, drums—Imelda almost thought this could be a second music store on its own.

“Sorry about the mess. Ernesto and I have to clean it up soon. Oh, and you can put that here.” He placed the bag in her hands on the nearby shelf. Héctor combed his hair back again and turned to her. Her breath caught in her throat at the lights outlining his silhouette with subtle brightness and shadows along his cheekbones, eyes, and lips. They were forced to stand close together because of the compact space the storage room offered, but Imelda didn’t complain at the circumstance of it. “Are you ready for your surprise?”

“Are you really going to make me repeat myself?” she replied back with a teasing bite.

He released a soft chuckle, eyes nervously peering down at the floor and fingers slightly fidgeting with his pockets. “I’ve been so excited to show you this, but also a little nervous...”

Heat rose to her cheeks as she stood less than an arm’s length away from him, and she prayed that he couldn’t see the way her cheeks burned. What was he going to tell her? Even when they were alone in a backroom, he still spoke to her as if he were telling her a secret the world couldn’t hear. She bit her own lips, the subtle tang of mango lip balm swirling on the tip of her tongue.

“I hope you like it.” He stepped closer to her, arm reaching out near her head and she sucked in a quick breath. “This is only for you to see.” His frame slowly moved closer to her and she waited for his hand to cup her face and tilt her head up for a slow meeting of lips. She slightly stood on her toes to ease the height difference, but then he paused and pulled away.

_‘This wasn’t part of the dream!’_

He moved back to his original spot, but in his hand was a small box that was nestled behind her head.

“Héctor...I...really hope you didn’t buy me something…”

Instead, that goofy smile widened and he extended his hand out to her. “Open it.”

Hesitantly, her hands reached out for the box and she was surprised to feel some weight pulling at her biceps a bit. A few of the items inside rattled against each other and gingerly she opened it up. The most prominent object capturing her attention were the corners of a small photo frame. When the photo hit the light, Imelda noticed it was a split of two faded photos—a young girl and short man in one; two men in the other. She squinted her eyes a bit to examine their faces; her concentration was focused on the people in the frame that she didn’t notice Héctor moving to stand right beside her.

His hand on her shoulder jolted her out of the daze. “Guess who that is?” He spoke with a smile in his voice.

Imelda’s eyes widened and her fingers almost lost their grip on the frame. “Is that...Selena?”

“Mmhm. And?”

She grew quiet again, bringing the frame closer for another analysis. There was something freshly familiar about the man in the photo with younger features and a headful of dark brown hair. Again, she had been swept into a current of curiosity that she didn’t notice Héctor’s hand trying to reach for hers and move back to his side when she glanced at him. “Is this your boss?!”  

“Yeah, he looks strange, right?”

“He had hair!”

“It shocked me, too. And do you know the other guy standing next to him?” Héctor pointed to the stranger in the photo.

“¿Quién?”

“Selena’s papá.”

“ _¡No manches!_ Your boss knows Selena and her papá?”

“Apparently, they’re good friends who met a long time ago here in México, then when Chich visited the States he met Selena and her dad’s own band,” Héctor explained. “Small world, huh?”

Imelda returned the frame into the box and looked at a few cards written by Selena herself to the man she just met ten minutes ago, along with a lighter she gifted him. “And Chich trusts you enough to see it?”

“Linda, I’m very trustworthy.” To which, Imelda rolled her eyes. “But we can’t let Ernesto see it—I promised Chich.”

“I won’t tell.”

Héctor smiled as she closed the box and placed it back on the shelf. “It’s our secret.”

She felt like a teenager when he whispered that to her. Their first secret together.

“Don’t forget your lunch.” He picked up the bag and held onto it as she walked out of the room. “Wow, did you not eat? It’s still a bit heavy.”

“That’s your lunch.”

Héctor looked down at the bag and back at her walking form. He ran to catch up with her, arm extended so the brown bag bumped against her. “You got me lunch? Imelda, you really didn’t—”

“Shut up and take it. It’s for you.”

“This is too much, really. You don’t need to give me anything.”

She stopped in her tracks and shot him a fiery look. “I did not spend three hours making pozole, only for you to reject my cooking,” she said pragmatically, turning to continue walking until Héctor stopped her by the shoulder.

“Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait...you _made_ this?”  

“Of course I did. I’m not a bad cook. Do you think I would poison you?”

“No, but I didn’t think you’d...make something, you know?”

“Well, if you don’t want it then, I’ll take it back and eat it myself.” Imelda gave an indifferent glance and reached for the bag, but Héctor held high in the air out of her grasp. “Give it back, Héctor. You said you didn’t want to take it.”

“Noooo, you made it for me, so I’m going to eat it.” He lowered the bag and then raised it again over his head when Imelda tried to execute a small jump for it. “I’ll take it and eat every bite.”

“You will?”

“Lo prometo and I’ll enjoy this meal because it’ll be the best one I ever had in my life.”

“You better.” Imelda pushed the strands out of her face.

He glanced down at his lunch bag, fingers digging into the paper and teeth biting at his lips. “Can I...um?”

“What?”

“Can I...give you a hug?”

The wind was sucked out of her lungs at his request and the look he gave her replaced her with warmth. Imelda’s eyes met his and she could see him asking for permission in his irises—shyness and hesitancy in making her uncomfortable. Her muscles relaxed and she nodded.

Héctor moved a few steps closer to and dipped slightly, arms encircling her small waist carefully. On instinct, Imelda’s arms snaked around his neck as she pulled him closer to her ever so slightly. His body was lithe and warm, but somehow strong when he secured his hold on her—pressing them flush together. She felt a wave of security wash over her when he held her like this and she turned her face a bit into his shoulder. Her eyes became dizzy when she inhaled his cologne mixed with his natural scent; a perfect balance of both. She hoped he enjoyed the sweet fragrance of her mousse massaged into her hair. They must have been like this for a few seconds, yet Imelda wished it could last an eternity in an embrace as caring, safe, and strong as his.

An unexpected squeal peeped from her when he tightened his grip a bit more and lifted her a bit off the ground. “¡Héctor!” She held onto him tighter as he did small twirls. “You’re going to drop me!”

Just as gently as he wrapped his long limbs around her, he slowly put her down on the ground. Both of them were panting slightly, trying to catch their breaths from such a small exhilarating moment with smiles on their faces.

“Never,” he murmured, fumbling with his lunch bag. “Gracias, Imelda for making me food.”

She coughed and fixed her hair. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“I will...are you planning on heading out?”

“Probably, I have a few things I need to do at home. Por qué?”

“Ah, I was thinking of showing you this cool new café that just opened up. But maybe another time, hm? I’ll walk you out to the front.” He guided her outside of the hallway and past some of the shelves with the vintage albums lined up.

_‘Mierda, I should have told him I’m not busy.’_

She browsed the newer albums in the front, trying to keep from direct eye contact. “Alright, we can go another day. This week?”

“That’s fine with me! Just as long as you’re okay with it.”

“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be making plans for it,” Imelda pointed out. In what seemed like a few seconds, they already stood at the foot of the door, neither wanting to move further. The heat of the falling sun brushed against the back of her clothes and hair, likely creating a sultry silhouette from Héctor’s view.

“So, I’ll see you later this week?” he asked, voice slightly unsure and leaving some flexibility for her to change her mind at the last second.

“Mmhm. And make sure you look at everything _carefully_ in the bag,” Imelda added vaguely. He chuckled and began to unroll the top. “What is it? A toy? Like a Happy Meal.”

“You’ll find out,” she answered ambiguously with a smirk. “Hasta luego, Héctor.”  

“Adiós, Imelda,” he called out to her, already stepping outside of the door.

Curiously, he walked back to the counter and began to unroll the bag—a delicious smell of spices and meat welcoming his senses as he peered inside. He could see a small tupperware container with a deep red color, along with a spoon perfectly wrapped in a napkin.

“What are you smiling about now, Chorizo?”

“I got a surprise from Imelda, ‘Tavo.” Héctor beamed as he took out the container and spoon carefully. “She made me—” His smile dropped and he brought the bag into the light.

“What is it now? Is there a bug inside?” Gustavo chided, ignoring the widening eyes of his co-worker. He was met with silence for a few seconds and he banged the shelf to knock Héctor out of his daze. “¿Qué pasó?”

“She wrote her phone number.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Edward James Olmos is the voice actor for Chicharrón in Coco. He also portrayed Selena Quintanilla's father in the biopic film, Selena. 
> 
> Since we saw the similarities, we decided to have a little fun twist incorporating both elements into our story.
> 
> Also we made a few references to Selena's song "El chico del apartamento 512" (the guy from the #512 appartment) in which she tells the story of a girl who has a crush on a guy in her building so one day she decides to visit him, but has a moment of jealousy when a blonde girl opens the door instead; turns out she was just the guy's sister.


	5. Call Me Maybe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Héctor might make a phone call.

He rubbed his eyes as the strain began to irritate his vision. He’d been staring so hard that he might have ended up burning a hole into the paper, and he _needed_ it. Subtle wrinkles webbed across the small sheet, but still left the black Sharpie lines legible to anyone with decent eyesight power. His thumb ran over the dried ink and he stretched out the wrinkled edges.

_“Did you call her yet?!”_

“¡AYY!” Héctor cried out, his entire body jumping from the voice behind him. “Don’t scare me like that!”

Ernesto rolled his eyes and walked over to the couch, hand resting on the back. “You knew I was home.” He ran a hand through his damp hair, raking it back and out of his face. “Did you do it?”

“Ehh…”

“¡Héctor!” He walked over to the front of the counter, facing his sheepish friend paralyzed with nerves—ripped number in his hand and sitting next to the phone. Héctor shrunk into the cushion beneath Ernesto’s hard glare and large hands resting on his hips like an authoritarian nun from their past. “I told you to call her on Monday! It’s Wednesday night! What are you doing?”

“I was just waiting for a good time to do it. I don’t want it to be too early or late.”

“It’s 7 P.M., she probably finished eating.”

“Yeah, but maybe the number was already there to begin with and it’s actually some restaurant.”

“Call it and find out. If it is, then you’ll know.”

“I know, it’s just…” Héctor loosely flitted the brown paper between his fingertips, intentionally avoiding eye contact. “I’m just…”

“Héctor,” Ernesto softened his tone and his tactic worked when his best friend peered up at him. “She gave you a number. That means she’s interested! _This_ is your moment—and you have to seize it!”

“Pero—”

“What if I call the number and when she answers, you talk to her?”

“No! I can do this on my own!” Héctor protested.

“You’re not doing a very good job, Chorizo!”

“Don’t call me— _Ernesto!_ Dámelo!” Before Héctor had even realized it, the paper was swiped out of his fingers along with the phone set. He shot up quicker than when he overslept past his alarm and attempted to snake his arms around husky shoulders. “’Nesto, stop!” They reverted back to their adolescent stage of hustling and wrenching each other’s limbs for something they wanted. Unfortunately, both could reach the same intensity of stubbornness and drive to win in these moments. His ears caught the sound of fingers dialing the set of numbers and a spike of adrenaline accelerated his movement; he managed to grip the phone handle press down on the dial to end the call.

“What are you so afraid of?!” Ernesto exclaimed, shrugging off the thinner man from his side.

“Nothing! I’ll call her later!” Héctor snapped, snatching the paper again and stuffing it back into his pocket. He released a deep breath before heading off in the direction of his room. _“Ay, cabrón…”_

“You’re never going to get together if you keep waiting around like a duck!” Ernesto jumped over the couch, hot on Héctor’s trail. He held his hand out before the door to his room almost slammed in his face and he pushed through into the disarray of objects.

A stack of clothes sat on “The Chair,” waiting for its owner to place it somewhat neatly into the drawers after a month. Héctor pushed a cassette into his boom box; an electric guitar fused with Latin American jazz blasting upon the shelf and loud enough for the beat to vibrate through Ernesto’s body. Beside the closet was the worn and beaten guitar case—a few faded stickers decorating the black leather.

“Go away,” Héctor demanded, bending to open a few drawers and picking out his sleeping clothes.

“I’m not leaving until you call your mujer,” Ernesto disputed, crossing his arms.

“I said I’ll do it later, get out of my room.”

“No.”

“Nesto.”

“No.”

“¡Vete!”

“No—ow!” Ernesto winced as he rubbed the spot where the book hit his thigh. “That hurt!”

“I didn’t even throw it that hard,” Héctor said, magazine in hand. He raised it and hurled it at his roommate’s legs once more, swallowing down the laugh when Ernesto failed to dodge it. “If you wanna stand there, that’s fine because I have so many more magazines to get rid of.” A few lighter ones managed to catapult and strike at Ernesto’s feet.

“I’m not going to stand for this!” He turned on his heels, mumbling a string of complaints under his breath.

“But you would lie down for it,” Héctor called out cheekily, smirking when a sharp glare turned in his direction. He plopped onto the bed once the door banged close, and his hand dug for the crumpled paper in his pockets. A soft sigh fell from his lips as he memorized the numbers, lips pursing together in thought. Reaching over, he hid the sheet underneath the lamp so Ernesto wouldn’t try and look through his pants when he wasn’t in the room. “I’ll call you tomorrow, querida,” he vowed softly.

* * *

 “He _still_ hasn’t called?” Camila asked puzzled. She took a sip from her smoothie and leaned against the wall. “Maybe he didn’t find it.”

“I hope that’s it,” Imelda grunted, securing her grip on the metal and using every bit of her strength to pull down the security gate. “I told him to—ugh—look carefully.” She secured the lock and dusted off her hands.

“He could also be busy,” her friend suggested, slurping the last of her drink loudly. “He’s in a band and he writes their songs. I don’t think he’d just _forget_ to call you.”

“We’ll see.” Imelda fixed her bag strap along her shoulder and nudged her head. “Are you coming with me or no?”

Camila shook her head. “I’m going to workout. I haven’t gone in weeks,” she answered, patting a hand lightly over her stomach.

“It doesn’t help if you drink that,” Imelda said flatly.

“That’s why I have to workout again—so I can eat and drink whatever I want.”

“Whatever you say…”

“Oh, and I’ll call you tonight or tomorrow about this weekend’s plans,” Camila added. “And you better call me about what happens with Héctor today.”

“Hmm, we’ll see,” Imelda replied with an indifferent attitude.

“En serio, ‘Melda. This is the biggest love story of the decade, especially coming from you.”

“Alright, I will. I need to get going.” Imelda swiveled back and took long strides with her steps—the soft _clack_ of her heels swelling her confidence as the powerful woman she knew she could be.  

Today she decided to walk over to the record store for a bit of exercise; it wasn’t a far distance from where she was and she had a natural habit of walking quickly. Slow people was always a minor pet peeve. She has places to go, work to do, and goals to accomplish—Imelda couldn’t be slowed down if she could help it. If anything delayed her pace, it’s the stop lights that take almost two minutes to turn green. Her alternative to that is safe jaywalking.

Walking outside before 5 P.M. was also a naturally beautiful view. The afternoon heat diminished into a crisp and comfortable temperature; sunlight began to transition from a cool yellow into warmer golds along baby blue skies. A small breeze passed through the knitted fabrics of her sweater—cooling down the body with gentle caresses. Imelda took in a deep breath and savored fresh air after hours of being stuffed in the mall. Generally, she wasn’t one who enjoyed being surrounded by the outdoors or nature, but this walk helped her relax physically and mentally. She took a mental note to do this a little more often. _‘Visiting Héctor is a good excuse for that.’_

Her stomach grumbled with empty complaints and Imelda pressed lightly on her abdomen to silence the gurgling. She didn’t have a filling lunch and with a busy work day, there wasn’t any time to focus on her next meal. Fortunately, Héctor mentioned a café the last time and hopefully that was where they were going today. Imelda recapped all the memories of their time together and noticed one thing—they, or she, was always eating. If she kept up with this routine, she’ll end up gaining five kilograms while Héctor would get a few grams. Working out with Camila might be another activity for her to add to her seemingly never-ending list of tasks.

“Hola.”

“Hola...Ernesto, no?”

“Sí. Imelda?”

“Hm.” She did her best to offer a genuine and natural smile. But she still struggled to easily shrug off her first impression. “¿Como estás?”

“Estoy bien, and you?”

“I’m good, too.”

“Are you here for Héctor?” He was surprisingly helpful and friendly; a strong contrast to the overconfident approach she dealt with before.

Imelda’s shoulders relaxed a bit as she adjusted her purse. “Sí. I figured he should be working today.” She gave Ernesto a look. “Unless he’s not?”

“No, he’s here. He got in a little bit of trouble with our boss.”

“Oh? And you weren’t involved?”   

“Por supuesto qué no. I _never_ get in trouble.” Imelda could feel her eyes rolling to the back of her head and back with an unimpressed expression at her...friend’s best friend. “But I’ll go and let him know you’re here.”

“Gracias...Ernesto.”

He turned and for a moment, Imelda almost thought she saw the flicker of a smile on his face. She still hadn’t fully recovered when he tried to play fresh with her and it continued to follow her now. But she didn’t expect him to be able to put that aside and actually seem like a decent person. Maybe there’s something strong under that machismo for Héctor to consider him a best friend. He had several years of friendship more than her meek few days; if anyone knew him, it’s probably Héctor. First impressions don’t define the human character, and it wouldn’t be wrong to give him another chance. This could be an opportunity to learn about him a little more and perhaps befriend him. Maybe he’s the way he is because he never grew up in a stable, loving environment. Looking at her boy friend, Héctor is the type that could provide that to someone.

Imelda caught her reflection in the nearby sunglass stand. She patted the loose, slightly frizzy strands until it lay down smoothly. With a final scrunch and toss, some volume revitalized the dull curls after a full day of work. There was no sign of smudged mascara sweeping her under-eyes and lips were still naturally smooth with the glossy pink layer. The hint of perfume from early morning lingered softly on her skin, but maybe she should freshen up a bit? There might be some smell she didn’t notice earlier—someone breathing garlic breath on her clothes or walking through some hombre’s smoke cloud when she was rushing back to her shift. Héctor might notice any of those smells and never ask her to hang out forever.

She reached down and dug into her purse for the coveted bottle. One spray in between her cleavage and then she tapped her wrists over the damp spot, before patting right behind her ears. Better safe than sorry.

_“She’s here?!”_

A scuffle of footsteps squeaked against the floor behind the nearby wall. Imelda leaned aside to catch a glimpse of anything unfolding. Yet all she got was a conversation of mumbling and almost frantic whispers. She heard the word, “hair,” thrown around and then a quick brustling and whooshing sound. An onset of alarmed footsteps moved closer to her, then those feet set off sprinting in the opposite direction.

_‘Is he running away from me?’_

The loud echoes approaching her again answered the question and here he was—Héctor coming out to see her with a brown bag in clutch. He wore his hair down again and it bounced as he took another glorious step closer.

“Hey! Sorry I made you wait. I have your container from last time,” he panted, offering the bag. “And…”

“¿Qué?”

“You didn’t tell me you are one of the best cooks!”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she replied, stuffing the tupperware into her bag.

“¡No miento! Your pozole is one of the best I ever had in my life! It reminded me a lot of my Mamá’s cooking—so that makes you one of the best,” he explained triumphantly.

Imelda’s cheeks almost burned at the compliment, but she met his gaze with one of teasing skepticism. “No one’s cooking is ever as close as Mamá’s.”

“He almost cried for more when he finished the bowl,” a voice added as he walked past the duo casually.

“¡Cállate, Ernesto! It was a few tears because some of the soup went down wrong,” Héctor asserted, slumping at the skeptical expression on Imelda’s face. He chuckled sheepishly and rubbed his wrist with that “please-believe-me” look.

Ernesto made a more convincing argument, so she awarded him the point. Imelda pursed her lips together to keep from asking the question itching to escape. _‘If you wanted more food, why didn’t you call me?’_ With that silly puppy face blinking back at her, she couldn’t be as bold as she wished. What if he really didn’t see her phone number written in the bag? Then she would expose herself—embarrassing!

Instead, she shook her head and chuckled. “Well, gracias. My Mamá taught me how to cook.”

“Ahhh, that makes sense. Mamás are the best cooks,” he beamed. “She taught me a little, but I never caught on. Maybe you could share some cooking secrets someday,” he joked, relaxing at the soft laugh coming from her.

“Let me know when you want to learn and I will help you from burning the kitchen down.”

“Believe it or not, I have some basic skills.” Héctor leaned comfortably against the counter and tapped it softly with his knuckles. “I can fry an egg, make migas—”

“I’ll believe it when I see it. You sure it’s not girl-Nesto who’s the real chef?”

“Héctor Rivera and girl-Nesto could make a fine, simple meal any day. They know how to work the—”

**_Ggrrrrhhhh._ **

“...was that your tummy?” Héctor glanced down at her midsection.

Imelda shifted to cover her stomach and straightened herself. “No.”

“I think...México’s best chef is hungry and needs to eat before I make her mad.”

“Stop overhyping my cooking and you won’t.”

He raised his hands in defeat. “Okay, okay. So have you been to Miguelito Café?”

“No. Is it close?”

“It’s a five-minute walk from here. But it closes in half an hour, so we have to go now,”  Héctor explained, checking his back pocket for something.

“Alright, well go get your things and we can leave.”

“I have everything, no te preocupes— _Nesto! I’m heading out and I’ll meet you at home!”_ he bellowed and stood still until he heard the “Ok!” echo back at him.

“Do you have your own car?” Imelda asked as he walked beside her and they headed out the front door.

“Kind of...Ernesto and I share one right now.”

“I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

“No, está bien. I was planning on taking the bus home anyway.”

“It’s not a big deal and I don’t mind,” she insisted stubbornly.

“Really, you don’t need to. I do this all the time and I know you’re busy—”  
“Who says I am?” she challenged him, until his eyes met hers.

“Me,” he answered in a sing-songy voice. “Because I can tell you like to get things done.”   

“Wow, is that surprising?”

He giggled and gave her a mysterious look. “You’re full of surprises, Imelda.”

Her stomach did somersaults at the way he said her name. His voice was so calm and playful, yet had a natural intonation that sounded like he knew her for the longest time. Growing up, she never paid much attention to the name she was given and it was prone to jokes. Not many girls had such a traditional name and for heaven’s sake, they were beyond the Revolution-era. How many times did she try to establish a nickname for herself? Isabella, Alessandra, Carmen...It’s not easy to change your name at seven years when Mamá whacks sense into your brain with her chancla.

 _“Imelda means ‘powerful and warrior woman.’ I will not raise my daughter to live down to it!”_ She remembers those words ringing in her ears even now.

Well, it seems she has lived up to it. Perhaps Mamá knew about her fiery spirit the moment she was born. But never had her name sounded so ethereal, until Héctor spoke it.

Héctor…

 _‘I wonder what his name means,’_ she pondered. Would it hit the nail on its head or be the complete opposite? Guess she had a little investigation on her hands. Unless…

Imelda opened her mouth to say something, but was silently cut off by his arm pointing in the distance. There was a small café perched at the corner near a small parking lot. A large sign spread out above the door reading, “Miguelito Café,” with bright neon lights flashing that it was open. Even at the edge of closing time, there was a decent amount of customers looking to get a last-minute caffeine fix.

“Here we are,” Héctor announced, holding the door open for her and following suit.

It was a quaint space, but the rich mahogany wood, open area, and vintage collections of art gave a welcoming presence to visitors. An upbeat song with conga drums and soft bass kept a peaceful vibe, and Héctor already got swept in the rhythm by tapping his fingers against his jeans. The atmosphere was friendly and full of fresh brewed coffee beans. This was a pleasant place to spend time alone, with friends, or a lover. A few new scents wafted into the air—cinnamon and chocolate. Imelda felt her stomach grumbling more aggressively at the sensory overload.

“What do you recommend?” She asked, scanning the menu carefully.

“Their hazelnut latte is really nice—not too sweet, creamy, or bitter.” She hummed thoughtfully at the answer and stood a bit closer without realizing it. Héctor blinked in surprise, but let out a small cough. “I also like their churros.”

“I think I’ll get that then,” she said slowly. “The latte and churros.”

“Me too. I’ll go order it for us.” He moved toward the counter until a soft hand softly smacked his arm.

“No, don’t waste your money. I’ll get it.”

“I’m not wasting…”

“Yes, you are! Then you’ll be broke. Stop spending so much money on food.”

“I-mel-daaa!”

“Shut up and find a table or something,” Imelda directed, storming her way over to the counter before she could be stopped.

“Fine,” Héctor conceded with a pout. “You win this time. But I’ll get you back.”

“Do something useful, Héctor.”

He waved his hand toward her and walked around, searching. There weren’t many tables to begin with and all the business people hogged the benches in their posse groups. Not too many options to sit down and enjoy a cup of coffee with a friend. The napkin dispenser sparked a light in his head—they would need a few for their churros. He walked over and grabbed enough napkins for them and to use as tissues in the car. A little extra wouldn’t hurt, especially if you tend to spill things...a lot.

He just stood and waited there patiently since it was open enough where he wasn’t standing next to a great deal of people. Also, he could see Imelda at the register so he didn’t lose her.

At the corner of his eye, he noticed an elderly couple sitting side-by-side at one of the tables. They were no older than 75; salt-and-pepper hair; they probably stood shorter than Imelda’s height. A wooden cane leaned against the table beside the old man and he was tinkering at what seemed to be a pair of glasses. His wife brushed some leftover crumbs off of his shirt as he worked—eyes laser focused on the task at hand. After a few moments, he wiped them clean with his shirt and gently placed it over his wife’s eyes. She glanced around, testing that it worked, and smiled in approval at him. They continued on in their own conversation—just a simple, old couple spending time together.

Yet Héctor could hardly look away.

A mild sense of longing and wonder pulled at him. He could only imagine what it must be like to live that long with the person you love—to have decades of memories filled with laughter, arguments, fears, goals, and family. At the foundation of that is love.

His imagination flickered to Imelda and he conjured the fantasy. It felt so natural and _right_ to envision their wedding and dancing around their home with a couple of kids. _Their_ children. Over time, they’d watch the other age with wisdom and expertise in their careers and hobbies. Then, the soft transition of black to silver hair. Imelda might grow frustrated at the ailments that roll along and try to keep her beauty presence. But he would remain by her side to always kiss the worries away and tell her she is forever beautiful.

 _‘My missing piece…’_ he mused.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“Hm?” Her voice jolted him out of his fantasy and back into reality. “¿Qué?”

“You’re thinking about either music or some loca idea,” Imelda answered, stuffing the receipt into her wallet. “Am I wrong?”

Héctor chuckled. “Not wrong. But can you guess which one I was thinking?”

“Something loco.”

“Are you psychic?” He narrowed his eyes and leaned closer to her.

“Maybe,” she answered with a coy smile. “Should I even ask how crazy it is?”

“If you want.” He clicked his tongue and wiggled his eyebrows. “Orrrr...you could use your mind-reading powers to tell me.”

Imelda huffed and rolled her eyes. Yet...there was something deeper beyond the enthusiastic smile that felt off-putting. It wasn’t dangerous nor malicious, but more along the lines Héctor didn’t actually want her to know. Reverse psychology. If something was bothering him, he knows exactly how to crank his charm to fool everyone. Except her. She wouldn’t allow him to deceive her. But maybe this one time, she could let him hold onto whatever “loca idea” his brain had materialized.

“I don’t need my brain filled with outrageous schemes.”

“Aw, maybe you’d get a kick out of it. I can tell you!”

“No.”

“Okay, so what if—”

“Two hazelnut lattes and churros for Imelda,” a voice called out.

Both of them walked back to the counter, grabbing the warm cups and small bag of freshly toasted churros. Most of the other customers were leaving and they followed the trail outside, carefully blowing between lid and paper bag. They noticed an empty bench on the side and glanced at each other—the same idea emulating in their eyes. Quickly, they rushed over to it before some annoying customer stole their spot. The backup plan was Imelda could just throw (or kick) her shoe at them, but only if she _absolutely_ needed to.

Luckily, she didn’t need to and they sat beside each other with some distance. Their knees were close to touching and an itch to sit closer crawled up their spines. But they maintained some comfortable space as friends.

“What do you think?” Héctor asked, slowly taking a bite after Imelda. He watched her reaction carefully.

Her face lit up brightly as soon as she bit down and the warm chocolate melted perfectly with the slightly crunchy treat. A cheerful hum came from her and she nodded in approval. “Sí...me gusta mucho.” And she wasted no time taking the next bite, much to Héctor’s amusement.

“Dip it with the latte too,” he suggested, setting his cup on the bench and carefully removing the lid. Imelda followed and watched with a cautious eye the exact movements he carried out until further instruction. It didn’t seem like there was anything left to say since Héctor wiggled in happiness after taking his bite dipped in hot coffee. “The bitterness just adds to the flavor and texture. Go ahead, try it.”

“Mmm!” She tilted her head to the side and happily nodded again. Her churro already went for a second dip and soaked in more deliciousness. She did her own delighted sway and wiggle, unaware someone caught it.

“Are you happy?”

“You can’t tell?”

“Just checking,” Héctor chuckled. “...Do you always do that?”

“Do what?” she asked innocently between bites.

“These happy faces and dances when you eat something you like?” He gave his own imitation of her expressions and movements, and ignored her huff.

“I don’t do that!”

“You did it when we ate at the concert!” Héctor argued.

“Not!”

“As soon as you ate your food, you did this.” And he bobbed his head slightly but with enough indication of enjoyment. “I remember that.”

Imelda rolled her eyes and brought the cup up to her lips. “As if. It was loud and crazy—you probably imagined it.”

“I know what I saw…” Héctor shifted and grabbed a napkin from his pocket. He held it out for her and pointed to the side of her mouth. “You have some chocolate there.”

Imelda plucked it from his grasp and quickly wiped at both corners of her mouth, until he gave her the thumbs up. She gave him a blank stare when he extended his hand out again. “¿Qué?”

“Give me your trash.”

“I can hold on to it.”

“I’ll throw it away so you can eat.”

“Don’t—hey!” Imelda reached back for the paper ball that was swiped out of her small hand. She leaned over to retrieve it, but damn Héctor’s long limbs. He simply clenched his fist and hid his hand behind his back.

“Just enjoy the food, Imelda.”

Oh no...he said her name again. Mierda! Her brain melted at the way he said it. _Imelda._ He sounded like he cared so much about her and she wanted to hear it just like that forev...a very long time. And also, in another more passionate manner—but that could wait! She steeled herself before her body swooned and she made a fool of herself. That was one thing she would never present herself as.

“Fine.”

He didn’t bother her much with dialogue while she nibbled on her treat. They fell into a comfortable silence as both finished their churros and they washed the sweet taste down with lattes. Imelda felt content simply sitting with her guy friend, but couldn’t help wondering what was next. Time to go home? Chill like this? Héctor seemed to be on the same page also; he glanced around in thought before gazing at her.

“Do you wanna do something?” He finally asked.

 _‘Be honest this time!’_ she screamed at herself.

“Sure. Any loca idea?”

He paused and thought for a moment before a wide grin curled on his face. “Let’s go to the mall!”

Imelda cocked her head. “The one I work at?”

“¡Sí! You can show me where you work!” His enthusiasm doubled tenfold once the suggestion was laid out and the energy began to rub off on her. “You’ve seen the record store so many times now, and I’m really curious about your workplace!”

“There’s nothing special about it.”

“Neither is the record store.” He shrugged casually. “I bet yours is more exciting.”

“Guess again. And anyway, I closed up. But I can show you where it is,” she offered.

“That’s enough for me,” he acknowledged. “Ready?”

Imelda raised a brow and gathered her things. She kept her fist clenched and hid it away when Héctor tried to make a grab for it.

* * *

 “Wow, I haven’t been here in a long time,” Héctor remarked, taking in the sights of the mall. Several new stores replaced ones he knew and were names he hadn’t heard of. Since many people finished work and school, there were groups of schoolchildren, families, and workers walking around. As he and Imelda passed another hair-straightener kiosk, his eyes widened in glee and he almost jumped up and down like a small kid. “They have a stage?!”  

Imelda glanced in the same direction. “Oh yeah. They put it in a few months ago.”

“Maybe Ernesto and I can perform there sometime. And afterwards, we can all hang out!”

She made a face, but didn’t turn to look at him. “Hmm...maybe.”

“Still don’t like him?” he teased.

“Well...we just need more time, I think.” That was a good way to lay it out. A friendlier part of him was revealed to her and that slightly warmed her perception of him. But it would take _a lot_ of time for them to reach the same level of friendliness and ease he had with Héctor.

Unless they don’t get there at all.

“It’s okay. I don’t like him all the time either,” Héctor admitted. “It’s not easy balancing the friendship when I live, work, and rehearse with him almost every day of the week. It’s exhausting.”

Imelda bumped into his arm. “Is that why you’re hanging out with me?”

“Part of it—I like to hang out with you cause you’re so cool and badass. You just…” He paused, searching for the right word on the tip of his tongue. Imelda felt that warm feeling tingling in her chest as she waited for him to finish his answer. “You just...get me.”

“You, too,” she said. “Not many people get along with me like you do, so...gracias.”

“Who wouldn’t get along with you?!” Héctor shook his head and almost stopped, but continued to follow Imelda through the mall. “They have no idea how much they’re missing out!”

She laughed and smacked his arm—completely missing the awestruck blush rushing to his cheeks. He could barely say anything, just frozen in admiring her inner and outer beauty shining through. “How would you know? Are you my publicist now?”

He posed. “I could be and I would tell the world how incredible you are, so that people stop and listen to what you have to say.”

A little part of her sunk when he said that—not in disappointment. There were sides of her she didn’t want shared with the world. She felt safe enough to reveal herself to Héctor than every eyeball on Earth. Not broadcast to the world about how she does small dances and hums when she’s eating happily or their first secret about Selena’s gifts to Chich.

“But I just know; it’s like star-quality,” he continued. “You know and that’s what you got, ‘Melda.” He stopped and his eyes grew wide when she stared at him over the nickname. “I-I mean, Imelda...lo siento, it just…slipped out.”

“You already called me that,” she said calmly.

He gave her a confused look and peered up to try and remember when he let that slip out. “Really?”

“At the concert.”

“I did?”

“You did,” she confirmed.

Héctor scratched the side of his head and glanced down. “And...you’re okay with that?”

She rolled her eyes and nodded her head forward. “I didn’t smack you for it, right?” She met his gaze with a smile and he returned it.

“No lo sé. You smacked me several times that night,” he chided and raised his hands when her small hand was prepared to give him another one. “Okay…’Melda.”

Both of them relaxed and they continued walking again; perfectly side by side; in no rush. “There you go...Chorizo.”

He groaned and rolled his head back. “Ayyy, not you, too.”

“It’s not a bad nickname—just funny.” She suppressed a giggle at the flat look and pout he sent her.

Part of his hair fell over his eyes and he blew it out of his face. “Easy to say when it’s not you,” he moaned.

They turned a corner and Imelda stopped in front of the locked store. It was like a small pop-up shop, but definitely owned independently. From what Héctor could see through the bars, there was a wide range of boots, sandals, and leisure shoes on the boxes. He looked around if anything caught his attention, but there wasn’t much to see. Reasonable, since no store wants to be the victim of a robbery.

“Well...this is it,” Imelda introduced with an unimpressed tone. “Nothing special.”

“It might be. I haven’t gone inside yet,” Héctor countered. “Now I know where to go when I need new shoes.”

“You _do_ need new ones,” she pointed out, examining the ragged pair falling apart on his feet. “They look like they were run over by a car a hundred times.”

“These are my old Converse! I can’t get rid of these. They’re still good!”

“The tongue is ripped on one side and the toe bumper is getting ready to fall off. It’s yellow and old—you need a new pair of shoes, Héctor.”

“I guess…”

“Come in whenever you can between Monday and Friday. You can try on anything you like and we’ll measure your size,” Imelda directed.

He smiled, but then it turned down into a frown. “Wait...aren’t measurements used for custom shoes?”

“Sí.”

“You’re not making custom boots are you?! Because I can’t afford something fancy like that—”

Imelda patted his arm gently. “Relax, músico. It’s not custom-made. We just do that so you find the right fit.”

“Ah, I see...Well, I’ll just come in whenever you’re working.” That cunning smile curled up again. “Do I get a discount?”

“We’ll see,” she answered dead-pan, turning around and walking in a different direction.

Héctor followed her, eyes still roaming around. There were more interesting things than he thought—new restaurants, cool shops, Imelda’s store, and—oh. He kept a mental note to visit that jewelry store and see if there was anything out of curiosity. Maybe there was a nice bracelet or necklace that would look beautiful on someone special.

Or a ring.

“So what other neat places are there?” he piped up.

Imelda shrugged. “No lo sé. I’m here everyday so nothing is cool to me.”

“There’s gotta be something…” His eyes scanned the ground level past stores and for anything worth checking out. Bright lights and distant music flashed in his peripheral vision and he turned to look. Excitement clouded his vision and he grinned, facing Imelda who gave him a bewildered look. “Let’s go play some games!”

“Games—”

Immediately, he took her hand and dragged her in the direction of the arcade. _‘Ohmygod, ohmygod, he’s holding my hand!’_ The warm calloused fingers grasping hers dissolved her inhibitions as she allowed him to guide her. She never thought slightly rough fingertips could feel so nice—a pleasurable, light scratching on her skin. And his hand was humongous next to her dainty palms. They must look like an awkward couple trotting in public. Her eyes surveyed the people around them and a few spectators watched them hustle. Actually, it’s probably because they look silly.

But who cares?

They didn’t get their hand grabbed by the attractive, sweet, and talented musician who made her laugh and gave her food.

When they stood at the foot of the entrance, Imelda peered into the wormhole of the gaming world. Not many adults were seen engaging in the box machines; it was mostly kids trying to beat the high score with a parent nearby. The boisterous energy reeled Héctor in and with that electrified twinkle in his eye, she couldn’t help but soften to the idea.

“Have you been here yet?” he asked, gently releasing her hand.

“Not yet. But I know you want to.”

“It’s fun! And it’s almost the weekend, so we deserve a break from the real world.” He took a few steps inside and looked back at her, waiting. “‘Melda?”

A small smile turned up at the corners of her mouth. “...Alright.”

* * *

_"¡Eso, Héctor!”_

His body tensed with focused anticipation as he concentrated on his positioning. He was so close; there was no turning back at this point. Imelda was counting on him and he couldn’t let her down. The irksome beeping in the background had long been filtered from his brain as he maneuvered himself out of the situation. Accuracy would either kill him or make him a hero. One wrong move and he would lose everything—not for Imelda nor himself. He was going to win. With her presence so close, she radiated support and comfort in the final moments. A few beads of sweat surfaced on his forehead as time ran out.

**_CLICK!_ **

“YES!!” He bellowed triumphantly, raising both fists high into the air. “Yes! Did you see that, ‘Melda?!”

“Wow!” She clapped as he pumped his fist around ridiculously. “You really are the master of the Claw Machine.”

Héctor wiped his forehead and took a bow. “Gracias, gracias...I proved myself to the skeptic.” He bent down and claimed the prize—a small plush kitty toy that closely resembled her beloved Pepita.

“She’s so cute…” Imelda muttered as she accepted her gift. She ran a finger over its nose, whiskers, and ears as if it were a real cat that could purr back in contentment.

“I told you I’d get her for you,” he remarked with a smile and he booped it on the nose. “Do you have a name?”

“Not yet, but I’ll think of one.” She cradled the toy safely against her chest and held onto it even when they began to move over to the next game. In her other hand was a cup full of tickets that she and Héctor accumulated together. Hers was neatly folded, crisp at the edges. His was practically thrown in there without a care in the world. She complained about his tickets possibly falling out, but knew he wouldn’t care anyway—so now she had to look after it.

Boys.

“What do you want to play next?” Héctor asked as Imelda peered around and a mischievous smile curled when she found a particular one. He groaned at the look. “No, not that one! We already went there!”

“Are you afraid of me beating you again?” She paused. “At basketball.”

“The hoops weren’t working! Mine kept the ball from going in,” he exclaimed, trying to keep a straight face.

“The basket doesn’t move, Héctor.”

He gave a defeated sigh and peered back at her, already moving in that direction. “Fine, we can go back.”

“Ah, ah, I didn’t _say_ I wanted to play there.” She grabbed his wrist and cocked her head.

“Then where would you like to play next, linda?”

Imelda nudged her head in a different direction toward a seated machine. “Let’s race.”

“You’re on,” was all he could say and they rushed to the car game, both sitting in a chair beside the other. Their cup of tickets and her precious cat toy was guarded securely on the ground beneath Imelda’s legs.

Both of their chairs were slightly uncomfortable—unlike a real car. Héctor didn’t need to adjust his seat, but it was still somewhat cramped for his long legs. On the other hand, Imelda had to move her seat as close as possible to the wheel or else she would be “driving” with fully outstretched arms. Plus, she could barely reach the pedals. Almost a little too aggressively, she shifted the lock until the click was heard and grumbled when her seat wiggled a bit. The snicker beside her forced her to look over.

“What’s so funny?”

Héctor rested his head on his hand. “So tiny.”

She frowned and rolled up her sleeves. “I’m not tiny,” she growled. “Everything here is built for giants.”

“Not really...they could have made things a little bigger. So I’m not a giant,” he concluded.

“I can still beat you.”

“Bring it on, bonita. We’ll see who the champiooooooon is.”

They gave a final challenging stare before “revving” up the engine and setting off to become the racing champion. The animated sounds of driving and beeping blared with every winding twist and turn in the course. It didn’t take long for the duo to get absorbed in the virtual world.

_“Aaaaghhh, ohmygod!”_

_“¿Está bien, ‘Melda?”_

_“Don’t talk to me_ — _I’m going to get you.”_

_…_

_“No, no, no, no, no! Mierda…”_

_“Yes! Dios...almost there…”_

_“Virgencita, por favor…”_

**_Beep! Beep! Beep!_ **

“Aaah!” Héctor cried out with a meek smile. “I was _so_ close. I _almost_ had it.”

“I told you.” Imelda smiled before gently patting his hand. “But you did pretty good, too Chorizo. You were in the lead for the first half.”

“Well...I guess now you know how my driving is,” he chided, earning him an eye roll. “Don’t forget your tickets.”

“I won’t.”

 _“I could beat you at this,”_ a new voice interjected from behind.

Héctor and Imelda turned around expecting a naïve tween, but was met with a small boy. He was probably eight years old and a third of Héctor’s height. But he was _definitely_ alone.

“...Do you want to try?”

“Where are your parents?”

The boy shrugged dismissively. “They’re around...but can I play with you guys? Por favor?”

“I don’t know...you shouldn’t be talking to strangers, niño,” Imelda pointed out. “Ask your parents, then you can come back.”

“Are you afraid of losing to a kid?”

Héctor covered his laugh with a cough at the irony of Imelda facing her own question. He could tell it would irk her, but she wouldn’t lose herself for a little kid asking to play.

“No,” she answered calmly. “I’m more afraid you’ll end up in trouble.”

“She’s got a point,” Héctor stepped in for some support and could already see the boy’s lips quivering.

“No one wants to play with me,” he said quietly, storming off in the other direction.

“¡Oye, niño!” On instinct, Héctor jumped up from his seat and ran after the distraught child. He jogged in front of him and kneeled down to his level, taking in the upset expression crossing his face. “Don’t run off from us, we’re just trying to help. I’m Héctor. What’s your name?”

“...José…” the boy answered almost timidly, shifting on his feet.

“¿José? That’s a nice name!”

“Gracias…”

“Mira, we would love to play with you. You seem like a really cool kid,” Héctor explained kindly. “But we don’t want you to get in problems when your parents aren’t here.”

“I don’t want to be by them,” José revealed, crossing his arms.

“Why not?”

“Because...none of my friends came to hang out with me today and I don’t want to just play games with them.” He pouted and sucked in a breath to keep tears from falling down his face. “And none of the other kids wanna play with me either.”

Héctor sighed and pulled the boy into a loose hug. “That can be frustrating, I understand...but tell you what.” And he knew he caught José’s attention when he wiped at his face and looked him in the eye. “You can hang out with me and my friend, until we find your parents. Sí?”

José nodded. “Claro.”

“Alright, chamaco! Let’s go play some games!” he said loudly with a single clap and rub of his palms, and a smile pulled at the boy’s mouth as he took Héctor’s hand. They walked over to Imelda, who raised a curious brow at them.

“So what have we agreed on?” she asked more to Héctor than the kid trying not to sniffle.

“Imelda, this is José and he’s going to be hanging out with us, until we find his parents,” the lanky man replied cheerfully. “José, this is Imelda. She’s the coolest person you’ll ever meet.”

José gave a small wave. “Hola…”

“Hola, niño,” she replied somewhat stiffly, but maintained a polite and friendly front. “Where would you like to play?”

He shrugged.

Héctor swung his arm a bit, hand still holding the little one. “How about we walk around for a little bit and see if there’s anything cool?”

“Okay…”

“So why are we holding a kid hostage?” Imelda hissed in his ear as they slowly circled the arcade.

“None of his friends came out to play with him and he didn’t want to hang with his parents,” he whispered back, making sure José couldn’t hear. “That’s why he didn’t want to go so quickly.” Suddenly, he felt the small hand tug gently on his for attention and looked down.

“Can we play at that one?” His small finger pointed at the Skee-ball machine.

“¡Por supuesto! Let’s go check it out!” Héctor piped up excitedly.

“It’s one of my favorite games,” Imelda added with a soft smile.

“Really?” Both boys asked in one slightly surprised voice.

“Maybe you can team up with me and beat Héctor.”

“No, no, no...he’s gonna stick with me, right muchacho?” Héctor wrapped an arm around him protectively.

“Join me on the dark side...” Imelda whispered in a low, alluring voice. “We will win…”

José squirmed a bit confused. “The what?”

“No!” Héctor covered his ears, but concealed the internal swooning at the reference. “Don’t do it—I know she’s very charming, but don’t.”

“Why not?” he asked completely oblivious to the dramatic tone that fell upon the trio.

“Yeah, why not?” parroted Imelda, tilting her head innocently and hiding the excitement from hearing Héctor say she is charming. She took out her tokens and inserted the amount into the machine—all the balls rolling out neatly for her game. “Watch this, muchacho.” And with her first shot, she aimed and sent it rolling into the ‘20’ slot. Her next shot landed in the ‘40’ and she glanced over her shoulder to two awestruck boys with their mouths open. But Héctor looked like he fell in a deeper spell of wonder. Not wanting to break her stride, she continued to rack points on the game and in a musician’s thumping heart.

“What do you think now?” Imelda picked up her tickets and folded them neatly to put in the cup.

“I like the dark side,” José replied, jaw hanging and mind blown.

“I stole your Padawan,” she declared, extending her hand out for José. He joined her with a new enthusiasm and stood loyally beside her.

“Noooooo!” Héctor hunched over with a hand over his chest dramatically. Through the theatrical display, all he could see was perfection shining through the petite, but commanding woman. “He’s so young, too...ah."

José tapped Imelda’s arm as Héctor continued his scene. “What’s a Padawan?”

Both adults stared at him incredulously. “Haven’t you ever seen Star Wars?”

“No.”

“This poor boy,” Héctor lamented. “He hasn’t seen a classic saga and was stolen away by the dark forces—ay, Dios. His mind is too young...”

“Or we’re too old,” Imelda offered and the suggestion was met with a hand wave.  

“I’ll get him back with my award-winning skills.” He hoisted himself straight and took his position beside his competitor. “Good conquers evil.”

“Think you can handle it?”

“Only one way to find out.” And they each took a ball in hand, ready to dominate the other. Héctor gave a light kiss to the ball and almost swung the ball out of his grip, but thankfully it landed where it needed to be—earning him an impressive ‘20.’ “You see that? At this rate, I’m gonna knock you both out of the ballpark.”

“We’re already at 30!” José jumped up and down, collecting the next sphere.

_“I got this!”_

_“Wow, we got a 40!”_

_“Come on, come on...ah, almost got the 50…”_

Héctor glanced over and Imelda’s side had already locked down with 90 points. He was on the last ball and stuck at 60 points. If he wanted to win, all he needed was to land a 40. He could do that…maybe. There wasn’t much to lose if he didn’t get it anyway, except Padawan.

“Go on, Héctor!” José cheered for him, even on the opposite team. He smiled at the man and waited anxiously for the outcome.

“Alright, I’m gonna win this for you, chamaco.”

He gave his last throw and all of them witnessed it move slightly diagonally and land perfectly in the 100.

“¡Qué padre! I’ve never seen someone get 100!”

“Wow, wasn’t expecting that…” Héctor muttered to himself, double checking the scoreboard and waiting for the tickets to pool on the floor.

“Looks like good conquered evil this time.” Imelda held out the bucket for him to throw his tickets. She handed another set to José. “Here’s your tickets you won.”

“¡Gracias! Can we go play the mole game?”

“Whack-A-Mole?”

“Mmhm!” Already he took off speeding in the other direction and pointing to the location impatiently. He waved his arms and motioned to the scene. “¡Aquí! Ándale!”

“Hold on, niño,” Héctor chuckled. “We’re old—can’t move as fast as your little spider legs.”

José cocked his head and quirked a brow. “You’re old?”

“Not _that_ old, but for you, yes,” Imelda responded.

“Do you have kids?”

The duo paused for a few seconds before Imelda answered, “No, we don’t.”

“They’d be running around with us if we had any,” Héctor added light-heartedly, immediately feeling the blush trying to surface on his cheeks. He avoided looking at Imelda and figured she dismissed his comment.

She didn’t meet his eyes and said a mental prayer he didn’t catch her blush.

“I think old is when you have kids,” José described simply.

“What about abuelos?”

“They’re _super_ old.”

Imelda and Héctor laughed at the answer. “And what are we?”

José paused and looked up in thought. “Kinda old.”

“Ah, kinda old? Gracias. That’s very generous of you.” Imelda leaned against the machine, watching Héctor feed it with tokens.

“I’m really good at this game,” the boy babbled, taking his “hammer” and shifting his weight from side to side.

“Can’t wait to see it,” Héctor piped up and took his place beside Imelda.

They were not prepared for what came next.

A monstrous aggressiveness was unleashed with heavy strikes as a head popped up that had the duo flinching. A hostile entity possessed the quiet, sweet boy who came to them in his sadness. He let out a few grunts as he kept up with the speed of the game; no sign of slowing down or losing. All of his pent up emotions seemed to pour out in this intense beating and his companions let him be.

“So aggressive,” Héctor mouthed to Imelda; to his surprise, she chuckled. “¿Qué?”

“Reminds me of me when I was a kid,” she spoke fondly, memories flashing in her eyes.

“You don’t mean now, too?” He yelped at the nonthreatening smack on his arm. “See?”

She turned her gaze back to José. “Rarely.”

After a couple of minutes with a vicious child, the lights on the machine turned down and spit out the award of tickets. As soon as the last head went down, José’s body relaxed and he faced the couple with a cheerful smile and excited eyes—the small monster tucked away.

“Did you see that?!”

“Sí, you nailed it!” Héctor exclaimed, putting his hand out for a high-five.

“You’re the best at this game. Héctor and I wouldn’t even come close to your score,” Imelda praised and set out her hand for a high-five also.

“The key is to just—”

_“¡José!”_

A couple quickly approached the trio—worry creased in their expressions. Both enveloped the boy in a tight embrace and he didn’t fight or resist against them. He slowly relaxed and melted in the protective circle of his parents. Slowly, his hands rested on them as his mother murmured inaudible words. Not wanting to disturb their moment, Héctor and Imelda stood on the side silently and waiting patiently.

“We were so worried, hijito.”

“We thought we lost you forever.”

“It’s fine. They let me play with them.” José gestured to the young adults on the side and they waved back at his parents.

“Gracias,” his mother said and nodded in acknowledgment. “Do you want to stay here a little longer or go home?”

“We can go home. There’s not a lot to do anyway.” He turned and waved to his new friends. “Thanks for playing with me.”

“It was fun playing with you. Bye, chamaco.” Héctor smiled and patted his shoulder.

“Bye, Señor Héctor.”

Imelda stifled a laugh as his face turned flat for a few moments. He tickled José and got in a few loud giggles as payback. When he calmed down, he peered up at her. _‘He better not call me Señora.’_ She gave him a somewhat calculated smile and he probably caught on to her message.

“Bye, bye Imelda.”

Ah, he did.

She smiled. “Adiós, José. It was very nice meeting you.”

He gave a final wave and disappeared with his parents, hand in hand. A low sigh simultaneously came out from Héctor and Imelda as they watched the family happily walk away together. They spent a few moments in silence, adjusting to the change in dynamics once more. It was back to them again and they should have been moderately relieved that a kid was taken off their hands. But a little emptiness lingered for a few minutes.

“Well, what would you like to do now, linda?” He stretched his arm over his head and twisted his back to loosen the tight joints. A few cracks could be heard as he rotated side-to-side.

Imelda shook the cup. “Let’s go claim our prize.”

Neither of them really knew what to expect behind the prize counter. They figured there’d be lots of toys, games, and candies for children. But they did not expect _that many_ stuffed animals of different sizes. Their eyes widened at the array of selections—Hello Kitty and Transformers were the dominating faces. Within the glass counter, however, were miniature toys in rainbow colors and candies.

“A lot to choose from…” She managed, scanning for anything that caught her eye. The girl collected her tickets and counted them separately. Good, she could be busy with that while she and Héctor figured out what award they were taking home (besides the other).

“See anything you like?” He bumped against her, also examining his options. “I don’t know what to get either.”

“I really like that lion.” She pointed at the medium-sized toy hanging up. Perfect for cuddling with when it was time to sleep. And its mane resembled the long, wild hair of someone nearby. “May I see that one, por favor?”

The girl unhooked it and checked the tag. “It’s 200 tickets, and you need 20 more.”

“¡Mierda!” she hissed, gently squeezing the plush. “This is a cute one…”

“She can take 20 of mine,” came his voice immediately and her head whipped in his direction.

“Then you’re only going to get a small prize!”

He shrugged. “That’s okay. I have lots of prizes at home. And besides, I’m going to get those ones. Could I have two, por favor?” He held out his hands while the worker placed two chihuahua toys into his palms. With a smile, he raised it up to his cheeks and squeaked, “¡Hola!”

Imelda laughed freely at the silly voice, and she couldn’t stop. It wasn’t that funny, yet Héctor took it as a cue to repeat it and the wind was knocked out of her lungs. Her body tensed and fingers gripped the counter, unable to make a sound as she tried to regain control.

“Héctor…” she gasped. “Stop it!”

“But it makes you laugh,” he pointed out, but gave in. “Please give her 20 of my tickets and I’ll take these two.”

“Héctor—”

“No te preocupes, ‘Melda. I can give Ernesto these two because he loooves these perritos. Plus, he’s been complaining a lot.” He rolled his eyes and held onto “his” prize.

“I’ll get you one day. Watch me.”

“Surprise me then.”

“Oh, I will.”

* * *

Héctor closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

_‘This is it.’_

His shoulders relaxed and fingers held the phone comfortably. They weren’t shaking like last time and his heart wasn’t going to give out at the last second when her voice whispered through the speaker. He pressed the numbers locked and stored in his memory.

The line rang and he exhaled all of his worries and doubts. Being with her today was the confidence boost he needed all week.

“¿Bueno?”

“Hola...Imelda?”

Her heart skipped a beat for a moment from hearing this familiar voice, but returned to her senses quick enough to hide her surprise“...¿Héctor?”

He chuckled softly. “Yeah, that’s me…”

“So you did look in the bag after all.” Even over the phone, he could just see her shaking her head.

“Well, I’m not as scatterbrained as people think,” he argued.

“Sure, I totally believe it.”

“¡En serio! You can ask any of my other toy prizes.”

Imelda could barely hold it in and she let out a giggle. “You’re ridiculous…”

“My toys all love me for who I am.” He adjusted the phone and sat cross-legged on the couch. “How’s yours? Do you have a name for them?”

“Not yet.” She glanced at the plush toys nestled in her arms. Pepita wouldn’t stop staring at her twin by the foot of the bed. She was perplexed to see something look similar to her, but her human kept it out of her reach. Anyway, she seemed content observing from a distance. “They’re fine and happy.” Imelda shifted in bed and let the phone rest on the pillow beside her ear.

Suddenly, police sirens echoed in the background on Héctor’s line. It almost sounded like they were outside his door.

Her brows furrowed. “What is that?”

“Nothing, just the—”

“Are you getting arrested?”

“Wha—por Dios, no! It’s some thugs outside,” he explained. “I’m not a criminal.”

“That’s what a criminal would say.”

“Have you ever met one who’s unorganized like me?”

She smirked. “I thought you said you weren’t a scatterbrain?”

“I’m not! I’m _innocent_ ,” he contested.  

 _‘You’re a thief for stealing my heart,’_ Imelda answered in her head. But instead, “Alright, I believe you, músico.”

“Aww gracias, linda.” His tone perked up and she heard him shift. “Did you have fun today?”

“Un poquito.”

“Un poquito?! Even after a café run and beating me twice at the arcade?!”

“Well…” The smile wouldn’t turn down and she toyed with the wild mane of her plush. “It was more fun that I thought it’d be.”

“Okay, I’ll take that.”

“Did you have fun today?” She repeated the question to him.

“¡Pues claro! It’s always a good time hanging out with you.” Gracias a Dios they were talking over the phone because that sounded bold. Imelda bit her lip and subconsciously tightened her grip on the toys. Héctor was quick enough to jump back into the dialogue before anything could turn awkward. “And it was fun with José.”

“Ah, sí. He was a sweet boy. I’m glad we spent time with him,” she said, voice drifting slightly.

“Yeah...I love kids,” he chirped. “I’m excited to have them sometime in the future. I can teach them how to play and enjoy music, and dance...it’ll be such a blast.”

“That would be very nice…” Imelda found herself saying softly. A warm feeling filled her heart at those words. “You’re really good with kids, so I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful Papá.”

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Mhm. Do you ever want kids in your life?”

“I—”

**_Beep! Beep!_ **

“Hold on, Héctor. Someone’s calling me on the other line. Can you wait a bit?”

“Sí, no worries. I’ll be here. Not literally, but you know what I mean.”

She chuckled. “Gracias.”

As soon as she lifted the phone to press the other line, her smile instantly dropped into a frown. Who the hell was interrupting her call?!

“¿Bueno?”

“Imelda, it’s Mamá.”

She let out a low groan. “¿Sí, Mamá?”

“Just wanted to check on mi niña.”

“I’m fine,” she answered impatiently. “I’ll have to call you later. I’m talking to a friend—”

“A _boyfriend?_ ”

“No. I’ll tell you later.”

“If it’s a boy, you have to tell me—"

"I know, yes. How about I send you a photo of him with his name, occupation, age, and what his family does. Would that be enough?” Imelda retorted sarcastically, summing up the speech she was tired of hearing over and over about her being single yet.

"Ay, that would be perfect. That's my baby," her mother answered, getting the message, yet not showing any disagreement with the idea. Moreover, she almost sounded excited about it.

Imelda sighed. “Alright, I will. Talk to you later.” It was a relief to finally switch lines and get to hear his voice again. She couldn’t help but let out a muted chuckle before doing so, since she already had his address and his job; now she only needed to find out about his family. “Sorry about that. Mamá was checking in.”

“Ah, that’s fine! Mamás are important, too.”

_“Sí, and to answer your question...I would be happy with one or two kids. How many would you be happy with?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TL;DR 
> 
> 1\. Ernesto being nice and supportive to Imector  
> 2\. Cafe + arcade "date"  
> 3\. Imector learning to be parents before becoming a couple  
> 4\. Héctor is slick at the Claw Machine  
> 5\. Imelda can shoot basketball  
> 6\. Héctor actually calls
> 
> Next chapter: something we've all been waiting for ;) 
> 
> Ale: "Diversiones Moy" is an arcade that was very popular during early 90's. While I'm not sure when it was exactly opened, I wanted to include it in this fictional timeline because it was a big part of my (and some mexican friends') childhood (:


	6. Una Noche Más

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nights out are fun--especially when it involves kissing.

Oftentime as a new relationship starts to form, friends witnessing the growth and development of the relationship feel joy and excitement for their friends. Women are exuberant to see their long single friend finally happy with someone who is worthy of them. Men make their usual comments about sex, but they too are happy their friend has found a truly terrific girl.  

 _Most_ friends.

Ernesto was _not_ like most friends.

Sure, he was happy to see Héctor happy…to a point. Héctor had long been in and out of pointless relationships that did nothing for him. A girl would come into his life, hang around for a few months, and then just as quickly as she had entered his life, she was gone. The perk to those relationships ending was that Héctor was always hyper focused on the music after the breakup. Ernesto never had a problem when Hector would commit so deeply to the career of the band. Sure he would feel bad that once again, Héctor hadn’t found the one, but if the end of a relationship meant good things for the band, his best friend’s love life was a casualty he could accept.

Imelda, however, was different. In the weeks since Héctor had finally grown a pair and called her, she had become a fixture in their lives. If the phone rang, it was usually Imelda. If Héctor was out, he was with Imelda. If Héctor seemed distracted, it was because he was thinking about Imelda. Countless songs had been written about Imelda, yet none of them were worthy enough. All of these things tended to be typical for Héctor when a new girlfriend came along.

But that was the difference—those things were done for _girlfriends_ .  Imelda and Héctor were not a couple yet—they were just “hanging out” as Héctor liked to put it.  Hanging out without any benefits (a concept that Ernesto could not wrap his head around in the slightest). No kissing, no touching, no _sex_. Just some hand holding and typical ‘friend’ touches. It was infuriating.

“So who is she again?” 

“This girl who came into the store awhile ago,” Ernesto explained, sipping his coke and leaning against the wall. “Her name’s Imelda.” 

“That’s a pretty name.” All three women raised a brow at the grimace flaring on his face from the comment and bubbly pop running down his throat. “What’s with the ugly face?” 

“Nothing, _tía_ …” 

Tía Chelo brought up a finger and shook her head. “Tell us now. What is it?” 

His lips pursed for a moment and finally he blurted out, “I think he can do better.” 

“¿Por qué?” 

“She’s not very pretty and I don’t like her personality,” he started. “I think she’s too serious for Héctor. Can you imagine him with a shrew who probably doesn’t even like to sing or dance or have fun?” 

“Aren’t you being too harsh on her? It’s only been a month and they’re not dating yet. You don’t know how things will turn out,” one of the tías pointed out. 

“I know, but they haven’t even hoo—uh, _kissed_ yet and Héctor wants to marry her!” he fumed. “If you ask me, they’re going too fast. He’s getting distracted and spending all of his time with her. What if she’s a crazy killer? Or a bruja?” 

“And just what’s _wrong_ with being a bruja, ‘Nesto?” another lady asked with a raised eyebrow

“Umm… nothing?” Ernesto replied with a hint of fear and a nervous smile as he took a small step away from Tía Susana.

“Uh-huh,” was the short reply.

“He seems like he’s in a good mood more often and he doesn’t look like a clumsy mess nowadays,” another older woman piped up. “It’s good for him to spend time with a girl.” 

“I agree, but not her,” Ernesto countered. 

Tia Chelo rolled her eyes. “Ay, let them have fun. You’re always encouraging him to meet chicas and now he has one, you don’t like her.” 

He sighed. “They’re not even having fun—they just do… I don’t know, ‘not couple’ things.” 

“So?” 

“They’re dragging it out. If it were me, I—” 

“Would have a new girl already,” they finished. 

“Exactly. So I don’t know what’s wrong with him now.” He shook his head wearily. The women glanced at each other—knowing smiles curling at the same moment and leaving him out of the loop. “¿Qué?” 

“You say they’re dragging it out?”

“¡Sí!”

“But didn’t you just say they were going too fast when you said Hector wants to marry this girl already?”

Ernesto was silent a moment, seemingly trying to come up with a plausible response. Something he had done countless times before, and that the women had witnessed him do just as often.

“They are! They’re just taking _forever_ with the first part! Get it over with and kiss her already or move on! Aye!”

“Do you know why he’s dragging it out?” 

“No! If you do, I’d love to know why!” 

They smiled at him with bright eyes, looking as if they might burst. “It’s because our Hectítor is in...love.” 

The hallway became silent as that word entered his ear. It churned slowly in his head as the gears tried to match that concept into anything logical. After a few passing moments in silence, he snickered and took another swig of soda. “That’s funny. I don’t think it’s _love,_ but nice theory.” 

“Don’t believe us, but you’ll see.” 

"And you will have to support him."

"Don't let that boy suffer another breakup."

"He is such a good boy!"

"Just the best neighbour a lady could ever have—"

"Alright, I get it!" Ernesto stayed in that bubble of amusement, keeping a smile on his face to hide the offense. “Well, muchas gracias tías for listening to my woes.” He gave a short salute with his glass bottle. “And Héctor’s. I have to go back inside and get ready for rehearsal.” 

“Alright, go practice making noise.” 

Ernesto chuckled. “We’re going to get a Grammy for that noise.” 

“Whatever, just focus on paying the rent for now.” They shooed him off with their hands as they all walked back to their doors. “And tell Héctor to bring her home so we can meet her!” 

“Bueno, I will.” He smiled at them one last time before twisting the key into the lock and entering home. The moment the door closed, a heavy weight pulled on his shoulders. 

There’s no way Héctor could be in love with Imelda. He barely knew her. Sure, he said he wanted to marry her when he first saw her. But what man wouldn’t say that when he caught sight of the most beautiful woman? His best friend always had a knack for exaggerating and being dramatic, so what he said about marriage was simply hyperbolic. Nothing more, nothing less. The only reason he hadn’t kissed Imelda yet was because he was nervous and scared—two valid emotions when trying to woo women. If only he seized his moment earlier, then he wouldn’t have such a hard time trying to make it feel natural when the time came up. 

“Yeah, I have rehearsal later.” 

 _‘Oh, I wonder who that is,’_ Ernesto asked himself sarcastically. He kept his ears open for the remainder of the conversation since it sounded close to ending. 

“Alright, I’ll see you soon. Bye ‘Melda.” 

Ernesto tilted his head inquisitively as Héctor quickly grabbed his keys and shuffled toward the door. “Where are you going?” 

“I’m gonna pick up a latte for Imelda and chill with her for a bit before rehearsal,” he answered, not meeting his roommate’s critical gaze. 

“Did you get friendzoned?” He almost laughed at the flat look he received. “No? So what?” 

“We’re just hanging out.” 

“So you’re still trying to go for it?”

“Yes!” 

Ernesto straightened himself and rubbed his temples. “Héctor, you’ve had _weeks_ to do it! What the hell are you doing?” 

“I’m trying to find the right moment, okay?!” His typically laid-back friend shot back. 

“You have to make it happen!” Ernesto raised his voice slightly and he faced the annoyed glare from across the room. “How many times do you have it all set up and nothing happens? Remember your arcade ‘date?’” 

Héctor rolled his eyes and slipped his shoes on. “I know what I’m doing.” 

“My point is, either go for it or just be her bro-friend,” Ernesto said. 

“Alright, alright...I’ll talk to you later at rehearsal,” the lean man replied, already walking through the door. 

“If you end up late again, just bring her. She’s been to most of the concerts at this point,” Ernesto added, just before Héctor left and received a thumbs up. Once the door shut closed, he shook his head and released a long sigh. “I’m going to kill him one day.” 

* * *

“Something is missing…”

Ernesto rolled his eyes and retorted, “Yeah, Héctor.” 

“Obviously, yes. But something else, too. Maybe we should raise the pitch—” 

The door forced open and hurried footsteps dashed into the open space of the garage. Panting and out of breath, Héctor dropped his bag on the side. “I’m here! Sorry!” Frantically, he uncased his guitar and moved with hyper focused speed. 

“Calm down, amigo, no need to rush,” one of the other band members reassured and those words instantly relaxed the tension cramping in Héctor’s body. “How’s Imelda?” 

A smile flickered over his face as he steadied his breathing. “She’s fine. Just working late today.” The guitar rested on his thigh and his fingers drifted over to strum at the strings. “She also says hi.” 

“How sweet.” 

“Oye, when are we gonna hang out with her friends again? It’s been forever,” another member interjected. 

Héctor cringed at the incorrect tune playing in his ear and he adjusted the strings. “Um...the girls are going to karaoke tomorrow night. Imelda said they want to know if we would like to go with them.” 

“Yes!”

"Wait, karaoke...isn't that when girls sip fancy drinks as they loudly gossip and sing about men? What does a bunch of rusty guys have to do there—ow! What?"

"Does it matter? They're girls! Pretty ones!"

"They don't just drink, there's also cheap food!"

"And you know they might dance."

"With us!"

“Okay...that doesn't sound bad” 

“All set then!" Ernesto concluded eagerly. "Tell them we’ll be there, but give us the address.” 

Héctor pumped a fist when the chords were perfectly tuned as it should be. “Yeah, and we’ve been working so hard that I think we deserve a break.” 

“As long as you can keep up with deadlines, Chorizo.”

He brushed his hair back and raised himself to full height with a relaxed confidence. “Of course I can. I’ve made it so far. And don't call me that!"

His partner raised a brow and smirked. "Not even around your novia?"

"Especially not around Imeld—she's not my novia!”

"Haha, but you knew it was her, right?"

Héctor was running out of words and his face burned a deeper shade of red. "Ernesto! Help me!"

Only laughter could escape from Ernesto's lips, leaving Héctor to fend for himself.

“They're not even dating…anyway, do you know what time they want to meet up?” 

“Uh...I think around 7 or 8pm,” he answered, weighing his hands in an uncertain motion. 

Ernesto nodded in approval. “That should work. We have a few hours to shower and take a nap before we go.”

Héctor frowned in disbelief. "You should start off now then,” he pointed out, “your beauty routine will take a _whole_ day, 'Nesto."

The room erupted in laughter and Ernesto’s face fell into a scowl. "Ha-ha, very funny," was all he could say in his best sarcastic tone.

“We haven’t gone out in a long time, so it’s going to be a good night amigos!” 

* * *

 Imelda yawned as she watched office buildings and other cantinas pass by through the car window. The rainbow lights of night life were always pretty, but not the vibe of clubbing itself. Going out with the girls was fun; having time to enjoy life and party was nice once in a while. It would be even better if creeps could keep their hands to themselves and she wouldn’t have to break toes with her heels constantly. But she would create her own soon that would be close to indestructible one day—she just needed a little more practice. And who knows. Maybe tonight will be more interesting with Héctor around. 

“Are you excited?” came Flor’s voice beside her. She was busy keeping the car running on the road and not staring at her with some calculating look. 

Imelda shifted in her seat, stepping out of her gaze. “Not really. We’re just going out.” 

“With Héctor,” Camila added from the backseat. “We haven’t hung out with him for weeks.” 

Angelina leaned forward on Imelda’s seat and rested her chin on the shoulder. Her Victoria’s Secret perfume wafted in the air, almost suffocating the girls in the front seat. “But we heard you two have been hanging out _a lot._ ” She batted her full, mascara-streaked eyelashes in her direction and deep red lips curled up in a cunning smile.

Imelda met her gaze with a flat look. “Yeah, just hanging out,” she reiterated casually. “So?” 

“So, what’s next? Are you thinking of dating?” Flor asked, still not turning to face the girls. 

“Maybe…” 

“Look, you need to get with Héctor, get married, and have kids.” Angelina ignored the loud groan and leaned closer to her friend. 

“You sound like my Mamá now.”

This time, Camila leaned closer into the girl talk with her finger silencing any more complaints from bursting. “No, your Mamá wants you to marry some hombre. We want you to marry _Héctor._ ” 

All the girls nodded in approval at the juxtaposition of their support and another mamá’s. “That’s the difference,” they agreed. 

“We’re not even dating yet,” Imelda countered with an obvious tone of annoyance and frustration. “Plus, he said he wants ten kids.” 

 _“Ten?!”_  

 “Well…” Imelda waved her hands around and avoided their shocked expressions, “he said it wouldn’t matter if he had one or ten. He’d love them all just the same. But still!” She clarified, pulling her knee up on the chair. 

“You guys would have really cute kids,” Flor remarked thoughtfully. “And they’d be great singers by blood.” 

“Oye, sííí, cierto....” Camila and Angelina piped up at the same time and smiled at each other. Imelda could only roll her eyes at that. 

“If you have ten kids,” Angelina started, smacking her friend’s arm to pay attention, “then you can give each of us like one or two kids. We’ll be parents without giving birth!” 

“Por Dios, they’re not puppies!” Imelda cried out, hand protectively covering her abdomen. “I’d keep all of my children, even if I had ten.” 

“What if you give us one and we all raise it together?” Camila proposed, eyes squinting with uncertainty to the idea and impending reaction. When she was met with silence, she added, “Maybe your firstborn.”

Imelda just stretched and shook her head. “You guys drive me loca…” 

“Alright, well if you do plan to have all ten of them, you better get started now while your body is still young—”

“Yeah, yeah, Tía.” 

“Okay, we’re here chicas! You’ve been so quiet, now it’s time to get loud,” Flor cut in as the car parked in front of an abandoned looking spot with sketchy looking signs and no one in sight. She turned down the overheard mirror and did a final makeup check, lips pouting in the mirror. The other three passengers bit their tongue and didn’t move a muscle as they sat in the car in silence.  

“Um...are you sure this is it?” Camila asked in a whisper, eyes nervously scanning the area. “You’re not, you know, lost or something?”  

Flor looked out at the front sign and nodded. “Yeah, I’m positive.” 

“It just looks…” 

“Like a drug circle run by thugs,” Imelda finished bluntly. 

“It’s not!” Flor insisted, running a new layer of mascara on her lashes. “It looks empty, but you have to go downstairs.” 

The other girls glanced at each other, telepathically sending semi-frantic messages of what to do next. Follow her in some unknown ring? Leave her there and drive the car to some other cantina? Find another karaoke bar with the guys? _‘What should we do?!’_ They screamed silently. Each of them mouthed indecipherable phrases leading them nowhere. 

“We should—”

**_Knock! Knock! Knock!_ **

“AHHH!!!” 

“Sorry! Sorry! It’s just me.” Héctor waved awkwardly, smiling from outside the car. The girls instantly relaxed and took a fresh breath to calm their racing hearts. 

“Don’t do that!” Imelda opened the car door immediately and sighed in relief at the sheepish smile he sent her. “We thought you were a thug.” 

Héctor held the door open as she stepped out. “I told you I’m not a criminal.” He craned his neck to peer inside the vehicle. “Hola girls! Qué onda?” 

“¡Bien! Bien!” 

“¡Hola Héctor!” came the harmonious phrases of the girls. 

He smiled as the rest of them came out and fixed their tops. “Glad we found you because Ernesto thought we made a wrong turn or something.” 

Flor rolled her eyes and pulled the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “That’s what I keep hearing tonight.” And she glared at her surrounding squad before continuing, “The outside looks shady, but downstairs is popping. You have to see it to believe it.” 

“Alright! Let’s go check it out then!” he chirped, turning on his heels and waiting for them to follow. His pace slowed down until he was walking side-by-side with Imelda. His eyes drifted over to her outfit and his voice disappeared. She donned a white off-the-shoulder shirt with high-waisted jeans and boots. A silver crescent moon necklace with a purple/blue heart at its center rested carefully over her chest. When he peered down at her hands, a few rings dazzled on her fingers. If he turned his head, he’d have a better view of what she likes. “You have great style.” 

“Gracias.” 

“You always look good, while I’m like this.” He motioned to his casual t-shirt and jeans. 

Imelda followed his motions and no reaction flickered on her face. “I don’t know, you look fine to me.” 

“You’re just being nice.” Suddenly, he nodded his head toward a familiar group when they reached the entrance of the stairs. “Oye, I found them.” 

“Really?” One of them cocked their head. “Thought you found the Goonies.” 

“No, we found them,” Imelda corrected. “They’re standing right in front of us.” 

A chorus of “oooooh”s erupted from both groups and a sprinkle of laughter in between. 

The dude smiled in defeat and put his fist out for her. “That was a good one, chica.” 

“Gracias.” 

“Alright, so we just go down here?” Ernesto pointed downstairs, already a few steps in. 

“Yup, go down the rabbit hole,” Flor answered. 

The band started their descent down with the girls following close behind. Dark walls were colored with bright lights at the bottom. Loud music and glasses clinking resonated in the hallway. Once closer to approaching the entrance, a large man stood with a silent, intimidating presence that could rival a gangster’s. Ernesto tried to size him up with a puffed chest, squared shoulders, and a confident nod. 

All he got was a quirked eyebrow. 

But the sight of the girls trailing behind allowed them passage to their night of fun. The bouncer did stop Héctor for a moment, carefully eyeing his appearance. 

“I’m 23,” he said, unsure if that might be helpful. Héctor glanced at Imelda and she tried to contain a smile. 

Finally, the bouncer waved an approving hand. 

“Must be the goatee,” Héctor whispered to her as they moved to sit with their group. 

“I’m sure that’s it,” she smirked.

It was a small venue, but at least a fun environment with a dance floor. The bar used a lot of dark wood that complemented the sunset lights throughout the interior. An old TV played a soccer game; another one mounted at the opposite side of the room, projecting song lyrics. 

“Okay, let’s get a few drinks and sing,” Camila said, pulling up the menu and sharing it with the eyes beside her. “Imelda you should sing first.” 

“Ohmygod, yes,” Ernesto agreed enthusiastically. “We’d _love_ to hear you sing.” 

Imelda ignored the inauthentic excitement and surveyed the menu for the drink of her night. “Maybe later after a few drinks,” she replied nonchalantly. 

Ernesto peered around for the microphone. “Fine, then I can start—” 

“Héctor, sing a song,” one of the girls cut off, leaving Ernesto pouting and temporarily bruting until an explanatory whisper fell in his ear through Angelina. 

He nodded and smiled. “Sí, Héctor, you go first,” he encouraged. 

Héctor shrugged casually and continued to survey every single cocktail and drink offered on the menu. “Okay, after I get either a rum and coke or Long Island Tea.” 

“We’re doing a round of shots after!” another band member exclaimed and added with a vivacious tone, “Tequila, of course.” 

“That’s gonna kill me,” Imelda and Héctor muttered in unexpected synchronization. They met the other’s gaze and shared a laugh over the connection. 

More laughter and energetic cheers elevated from the group when a fair share of alcohol was served all around. Amusing stories and conversations circulated around the table as more and more rounds of booze was served to fill their bodies. The effect began to waver in Héctor’s system, but wasn’t powerful enough to classify him as “drunk.” Tipsy, if anything. His body relaxed and his senses were ready to sing as he acclimated to the engaging circle and dim lights. Since there was an almost infinite scroll of music, the girls selected the perfect song for him. 

A romantic ballad. 

He groaned and tried to ask them for a different one, but Imelda only encouraged him to go up since he asked them for help. And well...how can he deny her? 

* * *

" _Lovely, Camila! Who’s going up next?”_

Imelda raised her hand from her spot beside Héctor. “I’ll go.” She detached herself from leaning into his side for too long. 

After a few drinks (and tequila shots), she felt the boozy buzz surging in her petite body. Her chest cavity settled into a warmer temperature, eyes slightly droopy, cheeks touched a shade pink darker, and a giddy, almost shy smile beaming on her face. She needed a little support with tequila mingling in her blood, and resting on Héctor’s shoulder was all she needed. Plus, he was warm and didn’t mind. 

At the beginning of the night, she reminded herself she wouldn’t sing to save the embarrassment—especially in front of Héctor, since this was his career. But seeing that everyone were making bigger fools of themselves, what did it fucking matter? She had nothing to lose, except for some weekend fun. 

Héctor passed her the microphone. “What are you gonna sing, linda?” 

“That one,” she answered in a slightly higher voice, pointing to the music choice in the book. Her posture straightened up as she waited for the music to start. 

“Woooh! Ándale, Imeldita!” Héctor cheered, clapping loudly and beaming at her. 

The music began and she took a deep breath to calm the escalating thumping in her chest. 

_Era mitad del verano_

_en un rincón junto al mar_

_y yo soñaba en la playa_

_con el hombre ideal_

_Tenía tantos galanes_

_loquitos todos por mí_

_atletas esculturales_

_para poder elegir_

Her voice began soft, gentle and almost questioning of what she was doing. Self-consciousness began to rise in between her bones, heating her cheeks into a blushing mess. There were so many pairs of eyes on her! Why didn’t she consider only her closest friends survived her singing in the past and not a full band of musicians?! Maybe she could cut the song short…

Then she turned to see Héctor’s reaction and her stomach flipped. 

His eyes were wide with awe and fascination—as if she had put him under a spell. Imelda held the microphone with two hands, a shy smile curling up and eyes softening. He returned the smile and gave an encouraging head nod. “Go, ‘Melda,” were the silent words he mouthed to her. 

His support was all she needed as a surge of confidence flowed through her body. She raised her voice and blended passion and energy into every single word, note that composed the song. 

_Tímido búscame_

_te invito una copa en el mar_

_tímido atrévete_

_a que hora podemos quedar_

_Tímido mírame_

_sé que te empiezo a gustar_

_tímido quédate_

_no voy a dejarte escapar_

Imelda could barely breathe or speak when the music slipped from her bones, but she loved it. Thunderous applause surrounded her from her group to the other patrons sitting nearby, enjoying their own drinks. Her cheeks almost hurt from how wide she was smiling, and then there was a familiar, loud whistle that rang out beside her. 

_“That was awesome!”_

_“Ayyyy, wow, amazing!”_  

“Are you a professional?!” Héctor asked excitedly; silly grin on display. “Where did you learn to sing like that?!” 

Imelda tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Church choir…” 

“You were increíble! I wish you told me before that you have the most amazing voice in the world!” he praised. 

“Ay, you’re drunk, Chorizo…” She smacked his arm and leaned back, a subtle wave of lightheadedness momentarily washing over. 

“We both are,” he almost slurred, yet somehow managed to keep his cool. He raised his glass in the air and called everyone’s attention with another piercing whistle. “Let’s toast for Imelda, amigos...for her divine performance.” The entire table paused and mirrored his actions, holding their glasses up. 

“¡Salud!” Héctor exclaimed. 

“¡Ayyyy, salud!!” 

Glasses clinked; joy snowballed; gritos erupted; and more alcohol arrived. Drinking was so easy when caught up in the presence of the most attractive individual. Fruity cocktails with juice or coke went down smoothly and without a burning aftertaste. Everyone had returned to their fascinating conversations, until a popular, upbeat song broke the spell and commanded their attention. 

“¡Bailemos!” The girls immediately rose and slithered to the dance floor with a few of the guys in tow. 

“Let’s dance, Héctor.” Imelda took his hand and pulled him in the direction of her fleeing friends. 

“Okay, let me finish this.” He noticed her empty glass and began to sip hastily at the remaining liquor settling in his cup. If he sucked any faster, he might force a brain freeze onto himself. But the warm and soft touch of her hand in his kept him aware enough to avoid that. He held onto her hand, just in case she wanted to leave without him. When there was none left to drink, he slammed the cup down and wiped at his mouth. “To the dance floor, querida!” he hiccuped. 

More people seemed to flock onto the open area, quickly occupying what little space was offered. A convenient excuse for Imelda and Héctor to continue holding hands and swaying their bodies in drunken excitement. To Héctor’s surprise, Imelda took control of their movements—swinging their conjoined hands up, down, side to side, and jumping to the beat of Whitney Houston. He wasn’t in perfect sync with her, but his body knew how to whirl to the rhythm and let the flow take control. His wiggling hips matched her shimmies under the low lights painting their clothes red. 

Neither could contain their smiles when the euphoric rush of music ignited their urge to dance. Or how many times their faces got dangerously close. The occasional stumble from liquid encouragement propelled them into the other’s warm body. A light layer of sweat arose on their balmy skin, gluing the bottom layer of their hair to the nape of their necks. The sudden contact only coaxed careless giggles from the duo as faceless dancers surrounded them in their own small bubble of fun. 

“Hey,” Camila tapped Héctor’s shoulder with the beer bottle clutched in her hand, “do you want the rest of this?” 

Cheerfully, he accepted the half-full glass and gave a small salute of thanks. “Sure, gracias!” He raised it to his lips and took a small sip of beer offering some cool relief on the blazing dance floor. Imelda quickly swiped it from his hand and managed a small swig of temporary refreshment before making a face as it flowed down her throat. Héctor chuckled and retrieved the bottle. “You don’t like it?”

She shook her head. “Beer looks better when you’re drinking it.” 

“Does it?” he asked, swallowing the next sip. 

“Hmm, sí. If you served me a grass smoothie, I’d probably try it.” 

Their eyes tilted curiously at the other’s lips and filled with wonder. Teeth gently bit skin in a mounting anticipation that forced them closer under the musical enchantment. What if they indulged? Right there in that moment with “Raining Men” in the background and surrounded by a sea of strangers that gave no care in the world about them? Something as precious as a first kiss should be saved for a more intimate, special setting. But maybe it was time to seize their moment. 

“‘Melda, you have the most beautiful singing I’ve ever heard,” Héctor uttered loud enough where it could cut through the music and trinkle in her ear. “I could listen to you sing forever—that changed my life.” 

Imelda giggled. “Be serious, Chorizo.” 

“I am,” he dropped his voice, surprising them both. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” 

She stole the beer and purred, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” Her eyes glinting mischievously and tongue licking over her lips victoriously.

Wanting to get rid of the glass, Imelda searched around for a nearby table and promptly set it down when she narrowed in on one. Little time was wasted hustling from the table and back to dancing the night with Héctor. 

Slowly, as if the universe considered the scenario, the music transitioned into a slow-moving ballad—quickly eliminating a handful of uninterested dancers. But not Imelda or Héctor. 

For a few minutes, they continued to sway with conjoined hands and some distance to adjust to the sudden mood change. Their hearts hammered in their chests beneath steady breathing and delicate movements. Neither looked at the other; eyes exploring away. Héctor studied the subtle blurriness of Imelda’s moon necklace. She got stuck at the small area of soft flesh pulsing rapidly in his neck. So caught up were they with small features, neither noticed the gap closing every few inches. 

Carefully, Héctor’s hand slipped and snaked around her waist, pulling her body gently against his. This time, he led the dance, barely doing anything more than relaxed rocking. He dipped his head slightly lower so his entire vision only encompassed Imelda’s silhouette. At the shift of a passing male, Héctor’s hold tightened protectively and he turned them away until the threat of another man disappeared. 

Imelda’s hand crept up and held onto the back of his neck—her petite frame pressing firmly into his figure. She tilted her head up to stare into his eyes and Héctor’s breathing deepened. Even under the influence, nothing could distort the raw beauty emulating from her. His imagination barely prepared him for being this intoxicatingly close to her—the almost perfect fit of their bodies as he cradled her; how small and fragile she might be, even if her fierce passions argued otherwise. His fingers drew mini circles against her hip to release the electricity manifesting in his muscles. Something pulled him closer to her with the little inner restraint wavering quickly. 

There was no holding back with those lively dark eyes matching the want that accrued since they first met. 

“‘Melda…” His other hand released hers and moved to cup her face. When she didn’t shy away from his touch, he took that as a sign to keep going. He vaguely registered her hand resting at the crook of his shoulder, but it left his mind after a fleeting moment. He savored the smooth skin blessing his calloused fingertips and subconsciously licked his lips when his eyes flickered to hers. They were closer now, warm breaths tickling the other. There was still time to stop if she didn’t want this. Another moment she could reject him. The doubt never progressed into action; instead, her fingers dug into him as if it were a tiny answer of encouragement. Centimeters away and their noses gently nudged against the other. _“Imelda…”_

Their lips finally met in a soft, timid kiss and they pulled away. The excitement of it only brought them together again and the subtle collision quickly escalated into fervent, desperate energy. Everything finally fell into place. Héctor angled her head to perfectly deepen the kiss and a breathy moan exhaled from both when Imelda parted his lips with her tongue. The tang of alcohol danced on their palettes and the occasional clack of teeth coaxed them into pulling away for a moment’s breath. He caught her lips in between his teeth, grazing them softly and so more blood could rush to the spot and swell with his mark there. 

She possessed his thoughts, sparing no room for any other ideas to fester in his mind drunk on love. 

_“Héctor…”_

Their hands couldn’t be pried away from each other’s bodies, even if someone tried. Héctor pressed her tighter into his body to the point it felt they were naturally, perfectly carved for one another. Imelda couldn’t keep her hands to herself, wasting no time slithering up to tangle in his long hair and pulling gently when his teeth softly grazed her lips. It coaxed a small gasp from her and he apologized with another dizzying kiss that forced her vision to spin. The heat of their bodies forced together and stuffy bar was close to suffocating them. 

“‘Melda…” Héctor panted, pulling away and gazing into her hazed eyes. She tugged him back to meet her lips with the same passion possessing them. The roll of her tongue on his almost made him forget why he pulled back in the first place. But his senses brought it back to light. “Querida...let’s go outside. It’s too hot in here.” 

She peered back at him, knowing immediately that he was right, and nodded coyly. “Alright,” she muttered, automatically standing on her toes for another peck. 

With natural ease, his fingers looped between hers and Héctor navigated them through other close-knit couples and wandering patrons. As they passed some of the group, he just nudged his head in the direction of the exit, so at least someone knew where they were. Imelda followed closely—a few stumbles bumping her into his frame, but not enough to send them hobbling to the ground. Pushing past people wasn’t the hard part. 

It was the stairs. 

Imelda held onto the railing and Héctor as they slowly ascended the worst obstacle a drunk person faces. For every step she took, he matched it to stay at her side until they reached the top. 

“¿Estás bien?” He gently traced the subtle pink flush on her cheeks as soon as they conquered the trickiest hurdle yet. 

“Of course.” Imelda smiled and hummed quietly as Héctor guided her off to an area near the entrance, yet far enough for a fraction more of privacy. “It’s hot,” she said aloud, fanning herself with one hand and rubbing her stomach in the other. 

“Hungry?”

She shook her head. “Just hot.” 

“You are _very_ _hot_ ,” Héctor remarked boldly, earning a soft chuckle from her.

“Like the sky right now?”

He laughed back and held her hand. “What's with the sky?” 

Imelda glanced around lazily and noticed a bright filter from the warm neon lights contrasting against the night sky. “Well, it’s kind of red.” 

“Is it? I never noticed.” 

She played with his fingers. “Because you don’t pay attention.” 

“I dooo,” Héctor protested and pouted until she wrapped her arms loosely around his neck. “I didn't get lost on my way here, didn't forget anything at home, my shirt isn't inside out, my shoes are on the right feet. See?” He swiveled his foot along the ground in demonstration, only to be met with a fervent shake of the head. 

“Looks to me like sometimes you think with your feet so...” she argued, hands tracing the back of his neck. 

“So..?” 

Imelda paused for a moment, eyes scanning from his toes to his hair. She smiled and gently tapped the crown of his head. “Maybe you should put them on your head.” 

“Really?” He patted the same spot. “Here?” 

“Sí.” 

“Interesting, so in your world the sky is red and shoes go on our heads,” Héctor said. 

“My world?” Imelda tilted her head curiously. "Are you calling me loca?"

“I meant the kind of world a goddess comes from—different from everyone else! Maybe odd, yet superior,” Héctor explained lightheartedly. 

“Now you’re the loco one.” 

His arms suddenly enveloped her and they twirled around enough to almost agitate Imelda’s stomach. She held him tightly as he nuzzled his face into the side of her head. “You make me loco,” he murmured against her. 

She dodged his kiss, forcing him to rethink his sentence. “No, I don’t.” 

“Hmm, okay you only make me _un poco_ loco.” 

“Un poquito loco…” she repeated softly, bringing his face closer to hers. 

Héctor smiled and cupped her face, bringing her for a flurry of kisses. “You…are...so...cute….” 

Imelda grazed her teeth along his lips and gently pulled back, pushing a low moan from his throat. “Cállate,” she demanded with an adorable, nonthreatening edge. 

“Why?” He planted more sweet kisses along her cheeks and nose. 

Her hands anchored on both sides of his face, so he could look at her properly. Their lips were centimeters away again; on the edge of another kiss. “I like kissing you when it’s quiet.” 

Héctor smirked. “Then shut me up, ‘Melda.” 

The challenge flared in their eyes and they inched closer, re-exploring the new territory of their lips. Forget about going back. They should just leave together now—

_“¡Imelda!”_

 A low grumble vibrated against his lips as she pulled away, irritated that someone had cut into their privacy. “¿Qué?” 

“We need to leave,” Flor answered. “Some morra was trying to start a fight with Angelina and yelled some crazy threats at her. So now we have to go to the police station.” 

“Por Dios…” she cursed under her breath, untangling her arms from Héctor. 

“The band is leaving too, Héctor,” Flor added. 

He nodded and turned to Imelda. “I’ll go get your stuff. Just a purse, right?” 

“Mhm. The black one.” 

Héctor disappeared and hustled back outside as quickly as he could without falling on his face. As soon as he spotted her after tackling the “easy” flight of stairs, he noticed the way she hugged herself as if to shield her own warmth. If only he had a jacket to give her. But Héctor Rivera always finds a way to make things work. 

“Here you go.” He slung the purse over her shoulder before collecting Imelda up in his arms. Immediately, she relaxed and melted into the embrace. Her hands crept up his back and rested comfortably where the ridges of his spine poked through. His own hands rubbed soothingly over her exposed arms, leaving a slightly rough, yet transparent warmth on her skin. 

Even if he looked like a living toothpick, Imelda would have never guessed how incredibly warm he could be. Maybe that was all the food burning up in his body, leaving him with a thin frame. His heartbeat rumbled in her ear and she couldn’t help but become hypnotized at the music resonating in his body. It pounded quickly, but it was also mesmerizing. The urge to listen to it forever sprang up suddenly—the only man’s heart she wanted to hear until the end of her days. Now this was some real music. Plus, that sexy cologne he wears mixed with the smell of _him_ almost put her to sleep. 

If only this bubble of happiness and safety with him could last forever. 

“Are you still cold?” he asked, massaging her back. 

Imelda shook her head and snuggled closer into him, seeking more comforting heat. “Just stay like this…” 

Slowly they swayed. No music or raucous noises around. Just a simple state of being to themselves. A short amount of time was better than none as the grating echoes rising up dissolved that peace. It didn’t, however, break Imelda and Héctor from their embrace. 

As their group trickled out and gathered around to figure things out, the duo shifted to face them—arms resting on each other’s backs. They weren’t exactly ready to jump into the cars yet, so there was still a little extra time to be together. The girls were consulting the band about dealing with police matters and more complicated steps that left Imelda uninterested. She didn’t need to know how to intimidate the officers so they could work on a case sufficiently. That’s what her boots were for. 

All of that became unfamiliar jargon to the couple. A small wave of sleepiness came over them and they leaned against each other for support. 

“I’m tired,” Imelda yawned, resting her head on his arm. 

Héctor kissed the top of her head and pulled her closer. “You can go home and sleep. Cuddle with your toy lion and kitty.” 

“Maybe you can come—”

“Imelda,” Camila called out, pointing at the car. “We’re going.” 

“Can Héctor come?” 

An apologetic expression arose. “We have to bring one of the guys with us because he’s a witness. Lo siento.” 

Imelda sighed, shoulders sunk, and she turned toward Héctor. “I have to go now…” she murmured. 

A small understanding smile turned up at the corners of his mouth. “Okay, bonita.” He leaned down and gave her a brief, chaste kiss. “Call me when you get home.” 

“Alright.” Automatically, she tiptoed up to him again for another brush of his lips. “Bye, Héctor.” 

“Bye, ‘Melda.” He loosened his hold on her, but caught her hand before it slipped away. They couldn’t break the longing stare keeping them there, and soon they burst into a flutter of giggles. Héctor gently pulled her back to him. “Last one. I promise.” 

Without protest, they locked lips and only intended to keep it short and sweet. But they couldn’t move away yet. Who knew when the next time would roll around for another kiss? Maybe never. Or if they do, how do they recreate it? This was their last kiss, so it needed to count. 

Héctor exhaled softly through his nose—a warm tickle on her face. They broke apart after what seemed like only a mere few seconds. But their friends would probably say it was an hour. 

“Bye,” Imelda whispered again. 

“Bye, 'Meldita,” Héctor parroted, finally letting go of her hand and watching her settle into the car. 

As it revved up and began to reverse out, he could see her waving to him. He returned the goodbye with his own wave, making sure she knew he got it. A grin curled up on his cheeks when he noticed she blew a kiss to him. Not wanting to let someone else catch it, he caught it and cupped his cheek with her kiss. 

He didn’t move to the van until the girls’ car disappeared onto the road. His fingers carefully traced his lips where her own had blessed not long ago. The memory of how she felt burned fresh in his mind. His heart couldn’t stop tugging at him, pointing him towards her. No other woman gave him this feeling of knowing and completeness, except her. He always thought he could be happy if he never did find a woman to marry and have a family with. There were lots of things to fill his life with—music, dance, travel, friends, career, until he met Imelda. 

A cool gust of air blew past him and he smiled into the sky. 

“I think she really likes me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ale: sorry for the lack of art this chapter. It's been a busy month 😅 will make up for it in the next one. Thanks for enjoying our story!


	7. Mamihlapinatapei

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Mamihlapinatapei" - An unspoken, yet really profound look shared by two people who desire to initiate something, but are both reluctant to start.

_“¿Bueno?”_

_“I’m home now.”_

_“Okay, I’m happy you got back safe.”_

_A yawn echoed on the other line. “Me too.”_

_“You sound tired, you should go to sleep.”_

_“Yeah,” came the breathy reply. “Buenas noches, Héctor.”_

_“Buenas noches, ‘Melda. Talk to you later.”_ _A sleepy smile curled on his face as the line ended and he relaxed in bed again. His ‘Meldita got home safely and without trouble, so now he could sleep peacefully. The tips of his fingers caressed his lips as the memory of them dancing and sharing kisses replayed over and over. A serene wave of sleep washed over him as the sweet thoughts of her clouded his mind._

* * *

Grogginess weighed him down further into the half-firm, half-plush bed and sea of blankets; keeping him from rising, even with a cut of sunlight slipping through the window. A small dosage of booze must still be lingering in his blood. This happened every time he drank—his body would feel too heavy to move out of bed, even after sleeping off twelve hours. Then a few hours later, he required another short nap. 

A gurgle of deep groans slipped out as he stretched his long limbs across the navy blue sheets, almost forcing it to pull off the corners. He sat up and let out a loud yawn as fingers lightly scratched his arm. While his body felt heavy with sleep, Héctor couldn’t help noticing how light he was. Either he drank so much and he can’t handle alcohol the way he could a couple years ago, or he had dreams that were too good to wake up from. A blurry image of Imelda kissing him resurfaced and his eyes glossed over dreamily. That must be it. 

He forced himself up and tied his hair in a messy bun—strands poking out all around, yet it framed his face nicely—and he shuffled to the bathroom. One glance in the mirror and he almost cringed at the reflection staring back at him. Slight circles; dull skin; and droopy eyes. What a morning face. 

The water ran and he cupped his hands until a cold pool gathered in his palms. Like a beauty commercial, he splashed it against his face—chilly sensations rejuvenating the skin. After a few more splashes to wash the sleep out of his eyes, he patted himself dry and went in for Face Check #2. 

He grinned. “Nothing a little agua can’t do. Looking like a rock star.” And he continued to freshen up before sashaying into the kitchen for a hot meal to satisfy his empty stomach. 

The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted into the air and he relaxed further at the comforting aroma. It seemed Ernesto just woke up deducing by the half-eaten plate sitting in front of him and a filled mug within his reach at the table. Eating is their first major activity before starting the day; unless, they (or only Héctor) are running late. 

“Buenos días,” Ernesto greeted with a smug smile as he brought the mug to his lips. “Did you sleep well?” 

Héctor gave him a confused look as he foraged the fridge for milk. “Um, yeah...why?” 

“Well, after what happened last night, I just want to know how you feel.” Ernesto stabbed at his food and peered up at him excitedly. 

“Wait, what happened?” He bit his lip, trying to search for a clear memory of the night before and laughed when the thought struck him. “Ah, that’s right. We went out with the girls last night and...and…” 

“Aaaand?” Ernesto made a rolling motion with his hand to further encourage him to remember a very specific detail. “What else?” 

Héctor hummed in consideration as he poured the cereal over the pool of milk in the bowl. His best friend could only watch that with subtle annoyance because it’s obviously cereal first, then milk. “We drank.” 

Ernesto’s teeth slowly ground together. “But what’d you do with Imelda?” 

“Oh, we sang!” Héctor blurted eagerly. “She’s really good! We should ask her if she wants to do a collab with us—” 

“You don’t remember?!” 

Héctor blinked slowly in surprise at the frustrated outburst. Was he forgetting something? “What else am I missing?” 

Ernesto groaned and resisted the urge to throw anything at him. “You don’t remember—” and he made loud kissing sounds, until Héctor’s eyes widened in full realization. 

_“YOU KISSED IMELDA!”_

_“IMELDA KISSED ME!”_  

“Yes!” Ernesto cheered, raising his hands up in praise. 

“I didn’t dream it!? Dios mío, ‘Nesto!” Héctor gaped, fingers tangling down to the roots of his hair. He pulled until his scalp tingled from the excitement, but not enough to hurt himself. To be fair, he could barely feel it when the memory of how their lips touched and moved against each other was all he could see. “She kissed me! Wow, I can’t believe she really—” 

“Wait...you didn’t make the first move?” 

Héctor shrugged, completely ignoring the corn flakes slowly becoming soggy. “I don’t know. I think we both moved at the same time...but it’s just... _wow!_ ” 

“It feels good, right? Welcome back,” Ernesto urged, taking another sip of coffee. “I told you should’ve gone for it earlier.” 

“Sí, it was really nice…” A dreamy glaze in Héctor’s eyes had him melting in his seat; stomach suddenly full even with little food. Soon, it disappeared and his smile turned into a worried frown. “But...what if she didn’t like it like that?” 

Ernesto raised a brow and leaned forward. “Like what?” 

“Like...drunk.” 

“What’s wrong with that?” 

“First kisses are meant to be special and last night was…” He paused for the right word, “...unromantic.” 

Ernesto rolled his eyes and stood up to put his dishes away. “That’s so overrated. This is the ‘90s now, Héctor.” He turned around from the sink and shot him a sly look. “Why does it have to be soft and sweet when it can be rough and passionate?” 

“We’re not all you.” 

Ernesto didn’t need to look back at his best friend to know his eyes were rolling to the back of his head and his ears were shutting out his words. “Name one time your first kiss was special.” 

“Hmmm...in high school with Sabrina.” 

The water stopped and both men stared each other off. “That was in front of the guys’ bathroom.” 

Héctor tilted his head. “Well, the point is, Imelda is different,” he said seriously, before adding, “And special.” 

“Now where have I heard that one?” 

Héctor sighed and took a bite of his breakfast. “I swear this is _different._ Why can’t you put yourself in my shoes for once?” 

“Because they’re bigger and I hate it,” Ernesto snickered. “Also you need better ones.” 

A chuckle bubbled from the one with messy hair. “Imelda said the same thing.” 

“The one thing we agree on,” Ernesto muttered under his breath. He glanced at his roommate and sighed at the worry almost overwhelming him. “Call her and hang out, but don’t tell her it’s a date—” 

Héctor waved his hand. “Yeah, yeah. I will. I’ll call her later.” 

“Whatever then. But remember, if you really want her, you gotta make it happen.” And he disappeared into the other room—loud footsteps growing softer and softer until it melted into silence. 

“I’ll probably call her…” Héctor spoke to his food. “Maybe...we’ll see.” 

* * *

_“Hey.”_

_How dare he._

_Not a single call and he has the audacity to show up at her workplace with that goofy, charming, irresistible smile as if nothing had happened Saturday night._

_“Hola...Chorizo,” Imelda said nonchalantly._

_“Hola bonita,” Héctor uttered, an arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her to him. He leaned down and gave her a loving kiss._

_Instantly, every drop of frustration, worry, and anxiousness evaporated when his lips were on hers again. She melted easily as if it were the first time this was happening, but an inkling of resistance forced her to push back. Her hands rested over his chest—a warm, rapid heartbeat thumping beneath her palms. “¡Héctor! I’m at work!” she hissed, wiggling slightly to squirm her way out of his arms. But that only prompted him to tighten his embrace and press her flush to his body._

_Another scolding stood ready, but the moment his mouth crashed against hers, it died in her throat. Who said he could have this much control over her?! And why did she have to enjoy this so much?! If she got caught making out with the love of her life at work, it would be “hasta la vista” to her job. Even with that knowledge, it only made the moment more arousing. Once his tongue slipped past her lips, it was over. She couldn’t conceal the moan demanding to be released._ ‘Let this last forever, por favor…’ 

_“Héctor, stop it!” Came her whine as soon as he pulled away, foot stomping down on the tile. How badly she wanted to smack that conniving look off his face._

_He kissed her again, soft and tender. “Let’s hide for a bit.”_

_Imelda rolled her eyes and groaned. “You’re unbelievable.” She grabbed his hand and dragged him to the back of the store into the small storage closet. They shuffled inside and she slammed the door shut to ensure a few minutes of privacy. His fingers toyed with her belt loops and she sent a smack across his cheek before pulling down for a harsh kiss._

_It would have been better if her hands could have gripped part of his silky hair, but the cotton fabric balled up in her fist would have to do. Teeth occasionally clacked and grazed the other’s lips, and the sensations only intensified Imelda’s desire. The deep moans she absorbed from him almost sent her mind spiralling, but the need to breathe pressed them to break apart._

_“Wow...that was nice, but also, ow.” Héctor rubbed his cheek gently for extra effect, even if she didn’t hit him that hard._

_“You didn’t call me for two days!” she exploded. “Not even once to see how I’m doing or if we want to have lunch or coffee. You didn’t even ask me if I wanted to go to the arcade! Then you come into work with that cute smile pretending nothing happened?! What do you have to say for that?”_

_Slowly, he gathered her up into a safe hug—his face turned into the crook of her shoulder, like a guilty dog trying to be sweet when he got caught red-handed. “I’m sorry,” he murmured._

_Imelda didn’t realize how the soft, genuine apology would warm her almost instantly, as if that was all she needed from him. Her hands splayed across his back as he held her, protected her. She found her grip tightening on him, pulling him closer to her so she could memorize exactly how it felt when he held her like this._

_“I won’t do it again,” he added, breaking away to gaze in her eyes; proving how genuine he was and no lies colored his words._

_On instinct, her hands trailed up and cupped his face as he dipped his head forward. Imelda had the perfect close-up of his eyelashes as they fluttered with every hypnotized blink. She could see faint sun spots that were unnoticeable from a distance and yearned to kiss every single one of them like he did to her. A smudge of her lipstick also rubbed off on him and it heightened the warmth burning in her body. Let the whole world see the berry-red color smeared on their lips and know exactly what they did._

_“I’m sorry, too.” Her thumbs ran across his cheekbones and he tilted his head curiously._

_“What for?”_

_“For smacking you.”_

_“Ah, so you’re not mad anymore? I can do this again?” Héctor peppered her cheeks with tiny kisses and Imelda burst out in giggles as he attacked her._

_“Stop it! Ay, Héctor!” She laughed, swatting his arm and trying to wiggle away from him._

_Finally, he stopped and smiled down at her like she was the most precious thing he’d ever seen. He leaned down slowly and Imelda knew what would come next. She followed his lead and stood on her toes to meet him, but he paused when they were an inch away. “Can I do this again?”_

_“Just come here, Chorizo.” She tugged him down for a kiss, losing herself in another world as everything around them disappeared. Nothing existed, except them and it was beautiful, perfect, sweet—_

**_“¡Imelda!”_ ** 

The vision disappeared and was replaced with a brown shoe box in her hands. Instead of standing stiffly in the closet, she remained idle in the open space of the store exposed to customers like she normally was. A voice invaded her own small fantasy and she turned around, almost believing it was a tall musician who finally kissed her. But disappointment sank quickly as the true culprit revealed itself.  

“Hola, Flor,” Imelda said flatly, closing the lld of the box and setting it aside. 

Her friend waved and leaned against the counter. “Hola. What have you been up to?” 

“Work.” 

“Did Héctor call yet?” 

“No. He hasn’t called in over two days and that’s _fine._ I’m _sure_ he’s busy.” 

Flor observed with scrutiny as her friend continued with her work tasks—ignoring her gaze, tension collecting in her jaw, stern eyes glaring, and handling boxes with a more aggressive edge. 

Imelda huffed. “He didn’t even visit me at work…” 

“Why don’t you call him then? You’ve called him before,” Flor pointed out. 

“I called him first that night to tell him I got home, so he should be the one calling me.” The strong facade began to crack and worry slowly crept on her face as she continued to hustle and bustle with the various boxes. “The one guy I thought understood me and it seems like he wants nothing to do with me after we make a move…” 

“That’s not true,” Flor cut in softly, empathetic to the anxiety overwhelming her friend. “Anyone can see Héctor cares about you a lot.” 

“So why hasn’t he called?” 

“You know how complicated men are.” 

Imelda sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “I thought he was different.” 

“Okay, mira—tomorrow is outdoor movie night. Why don’t we go and invite Héctor—” 

“No! Don’t invite him!” 

Flor placed a hand on her hip and almost glared at Imelda. “Why not? Then you two can figure things out.” 

“It would be weird!” Imelda tried to exclaim without losing a large touch of her professionalism in public. Luckily, there were no customers or a hovering manager to force her into a more cheerful and artificial mode. Only five more years until she might have enough money to start her own business. Until then, she’d have to remain until her craft was mastered. “I want him to call me, not the other way around.” 

She relaxed as her friend heaved a surrendering sigh. “Ay, you make things harder…” Flor perked up and rubbed her hands together. “Okay, then just the two of us.” 

“It’s a Wednesday,” Imelda said, not fully convinced. “We have work.” 

A dramatic groan coming a typically logical friend was enough to make an aspiring business smile. “We don’t have to stay the whole time—just talk about how to get Héctor to propose and eat some chocolate under the night sky,” Flor reasoned, giving her that half-supportive and half-cunning grin. 

 _‘Well...it’s either that or thinking about it the whole night in bed,’_ Imelda pondered, biting her lip as the decision rested in her hands. 

“Alright, I guess I’ll go.” 

Happiness and excitement beamed on Flor’s cheeks and smile. She gently patted Imelda’s shoulder. “It will be good for us, amiga.” 

“Ay, I’m sure it will be.” 

* * *

_"You want me to do what?”_

“Call Ernesto and Héctor, and invite them to movie night tomorrow.” 

“That’s something I would say, Flor,” Angelina pointed out. 

Flor sighed and crossed her arms. “Well, we all know Imelda won’t do anything until Héctor makes the first move.” Her hand shifted over to her hip. “And we know how that’s been going.” 

“So why do I have to call them?” 

“You’re the only one besides Imelda who has their number.” 

Angelina sighed. “This isn’t like you...and I love it.” A sly smile curled on her face and she sat cross-legged on the couch. She reached for the phone and added, “Imelda’s going to kill you.”

“I’m not going. _You’re_ going.” 

The phone almost fell from her hands. “Wait, what?” Angelina straightened herself and raised a brow at her friend standing before her. “Then she’s gonna kill me.” 

“She won’t.” 

“I’ll bet you.” 

“You go and keep Ernesto busy, then Imelda will _have_ to talk to Héctor,” Flor explained. “Héctor wouldn’t let her kill you.” 

“Wow, you really planned this out like a mastermind.” 

Flor shrugged. “I was a psych major.” 

Angelina contemplated the plan in her head. “So I get Ernesto and she gets Héctor...I guess I can sacrifice myself for their love story.” 

“And we don’t tell her I’m not going—” 

“Or else she won’t go,” Angelina finished, nodded and dialing the number. 

Flor shuffled on the couch next to her friend, leaning close until she could hear the ringing. “It’s too soft, make it louder.” She just got a hand waved in her face. 

“¿Bueno?” 

“Hola Héctor. It’s Angelina, how are you?” 

“Hey, hola!” He laughed. “I’m okay. And you?” 

“Bien, bien, gracias.” She smiled and relaxed into character. Flor still tried to lean into her to catch the conversation.

“Eh...do you want to talk to Ernesto?”  
“Oh, no, it’s fine! I was going to tell you as well. It’s just that the girls and I are going to an outdoor movie tomorrow night. Do you and Ernesto want to come?”

“Um…” The hesitation in his voice carried over on the phone. “I don’t know if I will be able to—there’s a few things I need to do for the band. Maybe Ernesto can go after his shift.” 

Time to up her game. “Awww, that’s a shame. Imelda was hoping you’d come.” 

“...Oh?!” 

Angelina smiled at his reaction to the new information she tossed him. That’s right. If he was still into her, there’s no way he’d pass up an opportunity to see her. 

“...did she really want me to come?” 

“Yeah! Why wouldn’t she? It’s just that she’s been so busy at the store lately, so I’m planning a night out tomorrow,” she explained. 

“Well...if she said I should go, then I could make some time…” 

“Are you sure? There’s no pressure—” 

“¡Sí! I can...I can make it...” he answered. His other plans and own embarrassment didn’t matter that much all of a sudden. A little boost is all he needed.

Flor almost yanked the phone out of Angelina’s hands. “What’s he saying? I can’t hear.” 

Angelina pushed her face away. “Shut up.” 

“What?” Came Héctor’s voice on the other line. 

“Oh, not you! I was talking to someone else,” she said with a sweet tone, resisting the urge to slap the girl beside her. 

“Ah, I see.” 

“So we will see you tomorrow, right?” 

Angelina wrapped up the last of the conversation by giving the time and location to him. She smiled as they said bye to each other and hung up. 

“Well, what did he say?” Flor questioned immediately. “Is he going?” 

A triumphant smile beamed on her face and she replied, “I’m very persuasive...they’re both going.” 

“I knew you could.” Flor grinned. “Let’s hope this works.” 

“If I die, you’re paying for my funeral.” 

Both girls stared each other down; a somewhat flat look and small fire burning in their eyes. After a few seconds, a few giggles ubbled from them both and they playfully smacked the other’s arm. Unsure how their friend may react to their scheme, they could only hope for the best. 

* * *

_'She’s late.'_

Twenty minutes and there was no sign of Flor. A small shiver went through her body as Imelda glanced at her watch. She carried a light blanket in her arms and shifted her weight to keep some warmth running as night crept closer and the sky was split with light and darkness. The idea of wrapping herself cozily became tempting, but she could do that in the comfort of home with less clothes she had on and snacks lined up on the table. “I’ll wait ten more minutes, and if she’s not here, then I’m out.” 

Her eyes scanned the expanse of the park filled with couples, friends, families, and children gathered around for movie night. Laughter and conversation bubbled around her as well as some adventurous children running past to satisfy a restless energy that blossoms in youth. It reminded Imelda of her twin brothers when they were small and full of _too much_ energy. Double the trouble was right; but there was also double the love and despite the chaotic episodes she got pulled in, she wouldn’t have changed that at all. Now Óscar and Felipe were soon approaching the end of their high school careers and preparing to enter a new world of adulthood and responsibilities. It had been awhile since she last spoke to them and she wondered what new trouble they were up to. Looks like Mamá will be getting another call this weekend. 

A small boy hid behind her legs, trying to use her as a shield and wall to keep him concealed from a slightly taller boy. He panted loudly and peered up at her with big eyes full of wonder and Imelda stared at him with an almost stoic expression. But as soon as he giggled, even she couldn’t resist it and gave him a soft smile. His small hands briefly rested on her leg, until he shrieked in surprise when his enemy came sprinting in his direction and the boy dashed off. 

Even when he soon disappeared into the gathering of people, Imelda could still feel the small handprints on her leg. Her mind to a different scenario—a life where tiny hands held hers tightly as perhaps a gentle kick would stir in her stomach. Those same innocent brown eyes would gaze up at her with love and curiosity that looked exactly like the ones of a tall musician she met at a record store. Then those baby hands would press against her swollen belly and try to feel the next kick—mouth gaping open in surprise if it was an intense movement. 

Her eyes moved to another area causing the vision to disappear and be replaced with the park once again. Then, at the edge of her peripheral vision, she turned and with perfect timing, caught a glimpse of a familiar figure approaching. The sight almost made her drop the blanket onto the soft patch of grass. 

 _‘No! That can’t be Héctor!’_ Imelda squinted to clear out the blur covering his face. She should have brought her glasses! If only her family didn’t carry a history of poor eyesight. _‘OHMYGOD!’_  

It _was_ him. 

He still looked as handsome as he did on Saturday night—loosely tied hair and a denim jacket with rolled sleeves. If she knew she’d see him (even today), she would have upgraded her look to more than just a tank top and jeans. At least she could have worn shorts or a denim skirt! 

And Flor should be there by now! Heat almost burned on her cheeks until a blush deepened a shade more, but not from embarrassment. Her stomach flipped and danced with butterflies as he walked closer. Her jaw clenched and she fought the urge to show her escalating displeasure; otherwise, it might scare off Héctor. 

He waved almost shyly. “...Hola, ‘Melda…” 

She shifted and brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Héctor,” she said, immediately smacking herself mentally. _‘You can’t even tell him ‘hello’ properly?!’_

Héctor bit his lip and fixed his quickly before gently rubbing the back of his neck. “You look good.”

“Gracias...you do too…” 

“I’m doing good, too. Thank you for asking,” came a familiar voice beside Héctor. 

“Hola, Ernesto,” she greeted with ease and the thought almost had her eyes rolling to the back of her skull. It should be easier to talk to Héctor, not his attention-seeking friend. “Did Flor invite you two?” 

“Yes and no,” Héctor answered, only to get a confused look from Imelda. “Angelina called and invited us since Flor couldn’t make it.” 

“Ah, I see…” Imelda made a mental note to throw a shoe at Flor for standing her up at a moment like this. 

“¡Imelda!” 

She turned around and some relief coursed through her when another friend could keep her occupied to avoid any awkward interactions with Héctor. But knowing exactly who she was friends with meant it was useless; Angelina and Ernesto would keep themselves entertained, while she and Héctor try to watch the movie. 

“¡Hola amiga!” Angelina sucked Imelda into a tight hug, completely oblivious to the tense smile on her face, and grinned at the two men. “¡Hola Héctor! And Ernesto,” she almost purred at the last name and the mischievous twinkle in her eyes were mirrored in Ernesto’s. 

 _‘Por Dios, they planned this.’_ Imelda sighed and glanced at Héctor who just shrugged as if he didn’t know what to do. _‘At least I’m with him, but this is awkward! They’re going to get it when this is over.’_

“Let’s go find a spot, hm?” Héctor piped up. “Gotta get a good view of the movie, no?” 

The group agreed and shuffled on, weaving between people in search of a comfortable space. Héctor’s hand lightly brushed along her back and no matter how anxious Imelda felt, she couldn’t resist savoring that soft touch from him after what seemed like an eternity. 

* * *

He could barely stop staring at her. Not just her beautiful face, but the way her fingers rubbed together to dust off salt from the empty bag of chips. Every so often, Imelda would lick her dark cherry lips and that motion only sent him into a fantasy of his lips on hers again. Like last time, he’d deepen the kiss and angle her so some of that sensual red lipstick could smear on him. 

His eyes continued to roam and he yearned to hold her again—feel her heartbeat against his; nuzzle his face into her neck; and, plant kisses over every centimeter of her face. In the midst of his observation, he noticed small goosebumps trailing over her arms and Imelda ran a hand over her skin. Héctor shrugged off his jacket and tapped her shoulder shyly. 

“‘Melda…” 

“Hm?” She turned around and all Héctor Rivera could see was a halo creating a heavenly silhouette. The stunning view of her stole his breath away and had him swooning. Not a single coherent thought sprouted and quite frankly, he didn’t care. 

“¿Héctor?” 

“Oh!” He snapped out of the spell and extended his jacket to her. “Uh...you look cold. Do you want to use my jacket?” 

Imelda rubbed her arms subconsciously. “Está bien, you don’t have to.” 

“It’s okay, ‘Meldita.” He tried to use sweet talk to get his way. A flicker of a smile came through and he relaxed. “Just use it,” he insisted. 

She reached for it and shook her head. “You’re so stubborn.” Her arms slipped through the sleeves and was large on her petite frame. But seeing her wear _his_ clothes made his big kid heart flutter. _‘She’s so adorable.’_

__

Héctor hoped she’d lean closer and talk to him as she used to, but Imelda refocused her attention to the movie. He let out a sigh and his frame slumped. _‘She’s probably mad at me because I didn’t call or visit her at work.’_ Seeing how acting chill played out actually made him want to pull his hair. Right when things were picking up and he lost his chance because he didn’t talk to her soon enough. 

To his far left, the soft and obnoxious sounds of a deep makeout only made him a bit more agitated. Yes, Ernesto, he wanted to be in the same position with Imelda, but no need to rub it in. He should get a room already with the amount of families sitting along with them. Moreover, their first kiss was too unromantic and Imelda deserved something special instead of a drunk makeout. As much as he tried to ignore roaming hands at the corner of his peripheral vision, looking away also meant he couldn’t see Imelda’s slim legs and boots. Perhaps now might be a chance to redeem himself. 

His fingers crept slowly towards hers—eyes switching from the screen to the ground. Grabbing it suddenly might scare her off, so it would be good to take small steps. A quick glance at her face and Héctor chewed on his lip—she seemed displeased. Again, probably his fault. 

His attention averted back to the film, but he had no idea what was going on. This movie seemed dull and uninspiring in comparison to his ‘Meldita. If only he could freely gather her up and kiss away all of her problems, tell her how beautiful she is, and just… be with her. But, taking it slow was the best approach.

_“Ay!”_

“Let’s go,” Imelda hissed, suddenly securing her grip on his hand and dragging him away from their spot. 

Now _that_ was unexpected. He spent the last ten minutes mulling over how to make his next move and she took the wheel. It almost felt like she read his mind when he tried to inch closer for her touch and damn...it was so sexy. 

They walked along the main path to God-knows-where, but it didn’t seem to matter since it was just the two of them together. The only thing running in Héctor’s mind was Imelda holding his hand as she led them. Her skin was so soft against his and he wondered briefly what cream she used. A little pang of guilt hit him because she was the one stepping up while he barely did anything. Imelda even brought the blanket and a few chips to share with everyone. He showed up empty-handed and that wouldn’t do. 

“Where are we going?” 

“No lo sé.” She kept looking straight ahead. “Anywhere.”

The no-nonsense tone in her voice told him not to say much and Héctor thought this may be the end of hand holding. To his surprise, Imelda held on and since it didn’t feel right to pop a joke at the moment, he peered around at the park. 

Along the path were golden lights illuminating the way through darkness, much like cempasúchil petals guiding spirits home on Día de Muertos. They followed the way until they reached the crosswalk, still hand-in-hand. Straight ahead was another extension of the park alight with more colorful orbs.

As they stood together waiting to cross, a rush of energy within Héctor fueled the urge to take a risk. And that impulse led him to interlace their fingers into a perfect fit. A tiny Héctor cheered in his brain when she welcomed the adjustment and he simply grinned to himself, trying not to jump up and down from excitement. The only self-conscious part on his end was his palms were slightly sweaty; he hoped Imelda wasn’t too squicked by it. If he distracted himself, that might keep his hands from getting stickier. 

Finally, the light turned and they made their way on what seemed like the entertaining side of the park. A few food carts were spread out to satisfy any night cravings. The open area and whispers of live music, along with beautiful night lights caught Héctor’s attention. But peering over at Imelda, her focus was on the chicharrón and fruit cups. 

“Are you hungry?” He stopped before they passed the old man at his stand. 

“Not really.” 

Immediately, Héctor dug into his pocket and approached the old man. “Two bags of chicharrónes and two fruit cups with lots of chamoy, por favor.” 

Imelda smacked his arm. “What are you doing?” 

“Getting us snacks.” 

“I told you no.” 

“And I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re hungry, or have cravings,” he answered with that tease in his voice. 

“I’m not.” 

Héctor ignored that and kindly thanked the old man. “Here you go,” he said, presenting her with an entire chicharrón and full cup of fruit drizzled with sweet, spicy chamoy sauce. Her eyes softened when such snacks were in her hands and Héctor held back an amused chuckle. He waited until she took her first bite and smiled when she bobbed her head ever so slightly. “¿Te gusta?” 

Imelda paused and coughed. “Sí, gracias…” 

When she didn’t say much after, Héctor could only eat in silence also. Food always led them into engaging conversations, but this time it didn’t. _‘She must really be mad at me,’_ he mused. But perhaps there’s hope in the musical circle ahead. 

Héctor finished first and once Imelda did, he collected her trash and threw it away. 

“¡Muchas gracias!” they called out, waving bye to the man and moving along the lit path. 

“Should we go back?” Héctor asked, praying to the heavens that her answer would be ‘no’ and to return to that natural dynamic they had weeks before. 

Imelda shook her head and walked closer to his side. “Not yet, I just want to walk around.” 

Their arms brushed against each other softly and the most intense of electrifying energy coursed through Héctor’s arms, commanding him to intertwine hands once again. The magnitude of this intensity almost truly challenged his limits. Never in his life had he felt such a powerful sensation in his limbs with any other woman. Resistance became a difficult task and all his body craved was to hold her hand again—another touch of her, no matter how brief it might be. A simple brush of Imelda’s presence ignited a wildfire and she was the solution; his remedy. If he gave in, then it might scare her off and he did not want to mess up again. There was little room mistakes if he wanted to take them a step further. 

“Do you want your jacket back?” Imelda asked, looking up at him. But the way she did seemed like she forced herself to meet his eyes. 

“Está bien.” Héctor smiled. “You look better in it than I do.” 

“It’s too big,” she remarked, softening slowly. 

“That’s the style!” 

“It looks weird on me.” 

“No it doesn’t! You look like a supermodel.” 

“Yeah, right.” 

“Oh, don’t be so modest, ‘Melda. You could easily grace every fashion magazine in México and pose on Vogue—ay!” 

“Cállate.” She swat his arm and laughed at the wishful thinking he spewed on the spot. 

Héctor grinned as she eased back into that comfort they shared. “What? It could happen. You never know.” 

“Silly.” Imelda shook her head, but Héctor could still see her lips turned up into a smile. Their hands brushed together again and the exhilarating rush returned with more vigor. His fingers itched to reach out—she was so close! This was his small window of opportunity and it would close by the end of the night if he didn’t do something. 

Hesitantly, as their hands touched, Héctor hooked their fingers together as delicate as reaching out to a hummingbird with open palms. It wasn’t a proper grasp, as seen by the open gaps between their fingers, yet he still clung to her. Imelda didn’t shift it into a grip, but she linked them a bit closer. A small step, but enough to offer him some satisfaction that maybe she’s still interested. 

As they continued their casual wandering, something became blatantly obvious the further they ventured. Other pairs could be seen walking with linked arms, or sitting on a bench sharing a kiss, or standing at the fountain making a wish. A flower vendor stood in the perfect spot selling to delighted couples. At the gazebo were a few musicians playing soft music in the night air for loving passersby. 

Looking at their hands now...they almost resembled those strangers. A subtle blush surfaced on their cheeks, but neither let go. 

“Buenas noches,” the woman selling flowers greeted cheerfully. An array of bright colors surrounded her on a small wagon, and even on the ground in perfectly coordinated bundles. “Would you like to buy a flower or bunch for your novia tonight?” 

“Ah, we’re not really—” 

“Sí, I’d love to very much,” Héctor said boldly, and secured his hold on Imelda’s hand to browse from the variety of fresh flowers. The level of confidence in doing that surprised him, but it encouraged him to act on impulse rather than overthink. “Which one would you like, linda?” 

“Those ones.” Imelda pointed at the thick bundle of deep purple dahlias and the woman prepared a small bunch for her. 

“A beautiful choice, Señorita.” She wrapped the stems around with a thin, cream wrapping paper before handing it over to Héctor. “The purple brings out your eyes,” the woman commented to Imelda with a friendly smile.  

Héctor laughed softly at the compliment, before he looked into her eyes as if he was verifying what they just heard. "It does, right?" He paid and graciously accepted the bundle, thanking her. He took out a single flower and broke it off its stem. Imelda watched him curiously and he pushed back a few locks of hair behind her ear. Delicately, he slid the flower to rest against her ear. He fixed the loose strands framing her face until it looked perfect.

 _“Héctor…”_ Imelda’s voice was barely above a timid murmur, but he hardly even registered it when his attention got hyper-focused on such a small task. When he reached satisfaction, Héctor stepped back and words failed to spring forth from his exuberant tongue. 

The most beautiful woman stood before him. Imelda seemed a bit uneasy under his silent gaze, until her eyes met his again. Something shifted and changed in that moment. An intense warmth and sense of knowing befell upon them, yet never manifested into words. Their breathing slowed; time almost stopped; and, eyes flickered to the other’s lips. If it had been translated into a vocal message, it would surely be: _bésame._

The yearning felt shared, but neither could move. 

Finally, Imelda coughed. “How does it look?” 

Héctor tried to grasp at his words, but not a sound came out. “You look... _wow.”_ Half his mind was gone and he was chasing around for his marbles to say a few words. The speechlessness seemed to work in his favor as she smiled shyly and her cheeks turned red. Her eyes crossed to the flowers still clenched in his hands. He gasped and held it out for her—a weak chuckle tumbling forward. “These are yours…” 

“Gracias.” She held the bunch close to her chest and bit her lip. Without knowing what to do, their feet slowly followed the path again. They walked without rush or urgency, until passing by the gazebo. 

The musicians played a soft and gentle melody for an elderly couple dancing in the exposed space. They gave an encouraging nod to Imelda and Héctor once they stopped and noticed the other pair absorbed in their own world. With just one look, both could see the love radiating—foreheads touching, gently grasps, peaceful smiles, and beamy cheeks. They didn’t care that they were slow-dancing in a park; to them, no one else existed for a few minutes. 

“¿‘Melda?” Héctor spoke quiet enough for her to hear. He held his hand out as she turned around. The burst of surprise on her face made his heart jump and flutter. “¿Bailas conmigo, por favor?” 

Imelda peered around self-consciously and bit her lip. “I’m not _that_ good.” 

“Por favor, ‘Meldita.” 

“Hmph.” 

“I remember last weekend, even though I was drunk.” He reached for her hand tenderly, thumb drawing reassuring circles. She didn’t let go and Héctor took that as a cue to pull her closer. “And you’re an amazing singer.” 

“Not.” Imelda searched for a spot to rest her flowers. At the foot of the gazebo seemed like a fine area and she lowered them there—all while never letting go of his hand. 

Héctor twirled her back to him. “I wish you didn’t keep that a secret from me.” Automatically, as if music gained the upper hand and commanded their actions, their hands moved in to the proper dance position. 

“Well, you kept it a secret from me first and I didn’t find out until your concert,” she countered, almost leaning closer to his face to challenge his words. Warm breaths were close from tickling their cheeks again. “So now, we’re even.” 

“Sí, we are…” 

Slowly, their bodies settled into the music with every sway and it didn’t take long until they eased back into the natural comfort they had been craving. A few days was too long to feel incomplete; isolated from the person who made them want to be their best. What if everything had dissolved? That worry had been at the forefront of their minds for every passing day of no communication. 

“Lo siento, Imelda,” Héctor murmured in between sways. 

“For what?” Her hand moved from his arm to wind around his shoulder. 

He had to say it. It's now or never. Honesty would work better in a relaxed environment such as now, and there was no use in dragging it out. “For...making you uncomfortable and upset because of last weekend.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I know we had some drinks and got carried away for a bit...Plus, I didn’t call you, so I understand why you’d be mad at me tonight—” 

“I’m not mad about that...” 

“...you’re not?” 

She shook her head. “I’m mad Flor ditched me and didn’t say anything about it.” 

“Oh…” 

“But yes...I am a little upset about not hearing from you,” Imelda added with a subtly, playful tone. 

Héctor chuckled. “Well, lo siento again for not calling.” He spun them around until he heard a peep of laughter from her. “So why didn’t you call me?” 

“Ay, you’re holding my hand wrong,” came her reply, intentionally avoiding his gaze. She adjusted their hands and ignored the question standing. “It’s like this.” 

“Hmm, I see,” he hummed, playing along for now. 

Silence washed over them again, but it was embraced rather than ignored. Time moved differently—a few minutes seemed like hours, but there were no complaints. The longer the music resonated, the closer their bodies leaned into each other. A soft hum stirring from Héctor followed the melody of the worldless song and it enhanced the bubble surrounding him and Imelda. No longer were their hearts racing; instead, it calmed into a gentle rhythm. 

Héctor tilted his head forward, until their foreheads rested against each other. For a second time, he pulled her closer to him and wound his arm around her waist. This did nothing to stop them from dancing and yet, a small part of them wanted to. Imelda released his hand, where it fell to her waist, and wrapped her other arm around his neck. Almost hesitantly, he lowered his face and immediately, both fell under the same spell they cast on one another. 

A gasp almost hitched in Imelda’s throat as their faces drew closer and closer. The golden lamplights surrounding them offered a heavenly aura around her and from this view, Héctor had a perfect close-up of the muted sun spots peeking from under her makeup. He counted five dusting along the canvas of her face—five extra details that make her even more beautiful. His gaze averted downwards at her full lips colored red; the memory of hers crashing against his sent him into a daze and the urge to recreate it burned within. 

She didn’t speak a word as her own eyes surveyed him affectionately. Curiosity sprouted, while Imelda memorized his face as he did hers. _‘What is going in that wonderful head of hers?’_ The sensation of a soft hand gently playing at the underlayers of his hair brought shivers tingling down his spine for a second. “Were your eyelashes always this long?” she asked quietly. 

Héctor released a small chuckle and pulled her closer, offering warmth to her petite body. He leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes to savor the intimacy. Their noses gently bumped each other when facing in perfect alignment, so Héctor nuzzled his face until he found a relaxed angle. Her breaths caressed his cheek and he leaned closer into her, mouth hovering close to her ear. 

“Can…” His voice dropped to a whisper; loud enough only for her. “...can I kiss you again?” 

Imelda tensed in his arms, as if paralyzed by those words. If Héctor’s big ears were working properly, he might have sworn he heard a small gasp from her lips. After a few moments, she pulled back slightly and gazed in his eyes. Her own seemed glassy, unless those were the lights shining against her dark irises and resembling the universe. Her hand trailed up to Hector's face, cupping his cheek to loosen his slightly startled expression, then she murmured tenderly, “I thought you’d never ask…”

A sparkle flashed in his eyes as their gazes burned with longing. The corner of his lips twitched up into a sweet smile under her tender touch. In the back of his mind, he sent another prayer to the heavens hoping this moment was real and that she really told him to kiss her. He leaned forward, eyelids slowly closing but gaze flickering between her eyes and lips. 

The gap closed in a soft kiss and fireworks exploded in Héctor’s ecstatic imagination. The lovely familiarity of her melted all wrong in his world and made it right. Everything went blank until his thoughts were drowned by her—body, kisses, voice, perfume—her soul, dare he say. That electrifying urge from earlier hadn’t died down, but it fused with Imelda’s energy as they rekindled the underlying attraction. 

Their lips parted slightly for a quick breath before reuniting in deeper, longer kisses that stole their breaths away. Imelda’s hands caressed his cheek before sliding to the back of his neck. Some of her fingers twisted in his hair again, but without any rough tugs.

They broke apart, panting softly and examining the other’s kiss-swollen lips. Héctor cupped her face with both hands and rested his forehead against hers. His thumb traced along her cheekbones and a few faint sun spots. Without saying a word, he collected her into another protective embrace. Imelda shifted so her ears could catch the thundering beat of his heart. Her arms slid beneath his, hands running soothingly up and down his spine. Héctor rested the side of his head against hers and another giddy rush had him excited over their height differences—she fit perfectly against his form and it immediately went on his list of reasons of why they were meant to be. He wished he could hold her more so than he already was. His own hand ran through her hair softly, combing her soft curls.

“I missed you, ‘Melda,” Héctor whispered. He continued to dance and didn’t shift from the comfortable position they nestled into. But he sensed his confession struck something within her, despite her silence. There wasn’t more he could say in simpler words. It wasn’t merely her beauty missing in his life. All the small details of Imelda were absent: her assertiveness and never-ending determination; her offerings to eat any carrots that had contaminated his food when they were out and teasing when he’d pout at his dish; her growing fondness of Selena; and, the food she would share with him. If she didn’t return the sentiment, it would be alright since he gave her the truth. 

She peered up at him, eyes warming his heart, and stood on her tiptoes for another fond kiss. “I missed you, too,” she whispered back. 

A delighted beam glowed on his face as they shared a smile. Until a cloud of seriousness crossed in his eyes. Héctor looked down, biting his lip. “Does this mean we’re…” He paused and then caught her gaze, hesitation on his tongue. “...together-together?” 

Imelda went silent and a million possible scenarios flashed in Héctor’s mind. It could be any of those outcomes, but he only prayed for one: _yes._ “We…” 

That wasn’t the word he was really looking for and the silence elevated the anticipation boiling in his blood. 

“Imelda…” He searched for her hand and held it gently, “will you be my novia?” 

“You-you—” 

“¿Sí?” Gracias a Dios his voice did not crack. 

“¡Idiota!” She fought hard not to laugh, but couldn’t hide her smile. “What took you so long to ask?!” 

Her delight was contagious and Héctor’s heart expanded threefold. He grinned and pulled her for another batch of kisses on her lips and face. Imelda giggled into the kisses and feeling her smile against his lips sent his heart soaring into the clouds. With a final peck, he pulled back and brushed away the loose hairs he caused to fall over her face. “Are we really novios? You and me? You’re my novia?” 

Imelda silenced him by crashing her lips against him once more. The hard pressure of it forced his mind to a blank, and when she deepened it, Héctor’s soul went to another plane. She parted her lips and traced his lips with her tongue, leading them into another slow, sensual dance that left them wanting more. 

“Does that answer your question?” she purred, surveying the dreamy and hazy look in his eyes. 

“Uh-huh…” he answered, still swimming in the ethereal state she brought upon him. “Could I have one more to make sure?” 

Imelda hooked her hands behind his neck and hovered close. “No.” 

“¿Por favor?” 

“No.” 

He pouted boyishly. “Solo uno más.” 

“Maybe.” 

This time, he added his perfected puppy-dog eyes. Nobody could resist that in his entire life and it shouldn’t fail him now. “‘Meldita, please?” 

She averted her gaze to avoid such tactics. Héctor persisted until the moment she caught a glimpse of his irresistible, guapa face. But stubbornness met stubbornness, and his cheeks were starting to hurt. This couldn’t be the first time his puppy eyes let him down! Well, actually, perhaps he can accept that since it was Imelda. If it were Ernesto, he wouldn’t be able to live it down. 

As soon as he dropped the look, Imelda quickly turned back and planted a kiss on his lips. 

“Yeeeee!” 

“¡Oye! You only said one!” 

“Only one from you,” he teased. “I didn’t say I had to follow that.” 

“Hmph.” 

Héctor laughed and kissed her cheek. He held her close again. “What do you want to do now, linda?” 

“Let’s go back,” she muttered. “I want to sit down.” 

“Alright.” He squeezed her for a second and kissed the top of her head before releasing her. “Don’t forget your flowers.” 

Imelda smirked. “I’m surprised you remembered them.” She looped their fingers together and pulled him with her as she retrieved her gift. 

He shrugged. “I’m a surprising guy.” 

She rolled her eyes and bumped into him lightly. “Sure.” 

“En serio.” 

They strolled back to the park hand-in-hand and searched for their original spot. Surprisingly, Angelina and Ernesto were still there, albeit caught up in their own bubble rather than the movie. Imelda sat between Héctor’s legs and leaned back into him comfortably. His arms enveloped her, adding an extra layer of warmth to pass through his jacket. She held onto his forearms and rubbed soothingly to prevent the night air from raising goosebumps. 

Héctor leaned close to her ear. “So...am I going to get my jacket back?”

“Shhhh, I’m watching.” 

Héctor chuckled and secured his embrace around her. Imelda grabbed his hand and planted a kiss to his knuckles. _‘Muchas gracias universe,”_ he reflected, glancing up to the stars. He noticed a bright shooting star gliding across the dark canvas of the sky, then peered down at the woman cuddling up to him. _‘Gracias for granting my wish.’_


	8. Somos Novios

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soleil: Sorry for the overdue update--this month has been crazy, My dog passed away unexpectedly so I took a short break from writing. But we're back on the grind, and hope you enjoy this new chapter!

The world seemed sweeter. Music became more lively; colors of the grass, trees, sky, and more were vivid. 

Weeks following a confirmed relationship led to a string of joyful squeals and a chorus of “Finally!” harmonized among fellow friends. Imelda and Héctor had at long last upgraded from ‘amigos’ to ‘novios.’ With a new shift in their relationship, they found themselves on a path navigating out of awkwardness and timidity. Arm or hand holding came to them naturally and without much soft blushes; the simple act elevated their confidence as a solid display to the world they were now official. 

Kissing, on the other hand, took a longer process than they anticipated. It sent a thrill through the duo knowing they could share such intimacy at any given place or time. Even after days’ worth of locking lips, for Imelda, a small inkling of shyness flushed on her face if it happened in public—not out of embarrassment. To be honest, she wasn’t sure why she became a schoolgirl internally every time they kissed in the open. It couldn’t be the way he smiles with his eyes when he pulled back and that his entire attention was centered on her and not the observant eyes of strangers. But in a private setting, she felt more comfortable to relax and focus on him. Privacy had the opposite effect on Héctor, who almost got the jitters. “Un poquito loco,” he explained with a giddy smile. 

A myriad of treasures lie beneath the surfaces of the other, and both are eager to discover them all. 

A new melody spilled from Héctor’s lips as he strolled past the shops that led him to a small shoe store. Lately, more and more inspiration struck him at lightning speed, and there was no doubt where it was coming from. He shifted the brown bag in his hands labelled with his name and a small heart. 

Up ahead was a store that continued to catch his interest over the past few weeks, and a smile curled on his face once his eyes set upon the ring in the window. On a simple silver band with small diamonds encrusted along its circumference and settled magnificently in the center was a round lavender diamond. Amongst all the other amethysts, this soft purple would complement Imelda perfectly. If she wore it, the ring would not make her beautiful; Imelda’s beauty would make the ring accent her. For now, the price was out of his pocket range, but he could save a little bit of money overtime and have enough by the end of the year—if it isn’t sold by then. If he had enough in that moment, there’d be no hesitation to walk in, ask the jeweler to box it up delicately, and give his money to her.

“I’ll be back for you,” Héctor muttered to the sparkling band, pointing at his target. “Wait for me for a few months.”

The only answer he could accept was the brief glimmer as the light caught a new angle.  _ ‘Adios, ring. Until we meet again.’ _   Héctor gave a small wave before pivoting and moving along his way. He needed to hurry before his lunch hour slipped from his grasp before he could enjoy it. 

He grinned as soon as he caught sight of her, still oblivious to his presence.  _ ‘She is stunning.’ _ Imelda’s hair was half-up, half-down with a tiny white flower pinned at the joint. Today she went beyond the colors of white, black, gray, and purple. She wore a sunset pink and coral blouse which complimented her fiery beauty in a new look.  _ ‘How did I get so...wait...who is  _ **_that_ ** _?’ _

As he side shuffled, Héctor’s view included not only Imelda...but also another man standing casually beside her. While he rivaled him in height, this guy overpowered Héctor by the rippling muscles exposed confidently. Dark tattoos spiraled around his arms like a snake slithering to the ground for its prey—dangerous, yet fascinating. Another edge of a tattoo peeked along his collarbone near a visible vein. A brief glimmer caught his eye and Héctor realized it was a couple of eyebrow piercings decorating his chiseled face. 

He gulped.  _ ‘He could bend me in half with his breath.’ _ How the hell was he going to throw down the dude who could easily sweep away  _ his  _ girlfriend? Just because he doesn’t have machine-gun arms, twelve-pack abs, or some scary piercings or tattoos, he still had to earn Imelda’s affection! His eyes shifted to the soft picture of Imelda and his resolve hardened.  _ ‘If I die, at least it was for her.’ _

His fingers clenched around the bag, his name crinkling slightly. Every step stamped into the ground with purpose. Imelda is his girl, his amor, his angel—

“¡Héctor!” She waved and motioned him over. That hard shell he quickly built up melted when she smiled at him, for him. It was almost enough to disintegrate his worry. 

“Hola, amor.” He gave his own smile and leaned over to kiss her cheek. 

Imelda lightly took his hand—her own thumb caressing over his knuckles. “This is Héctor.” She shifted slightly and peered up in his familiar kind eyes. As he stared back down at her, he noticed how her voice was a bit softer and a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. Was his Imeldita being shy now? Her grip tightened around his as if she read his mind and Héctor could not resist against whatever silent support she needed. “My boyfriend,” she finished and his heart soared at those words. 

That’s right, El Santo. He is  _ her  _ boyfriend; she is  _ his  _ girlfriend. Héctor had to see his competitor’s expression and tried to steel himself when those hard eyes scanned his face. They were a little scary, but he was going to hold his ground for Imelda. 

“Héctor, this is Angel.” She pivoted slightly. “He’s one of the mall’s security guards.” 

Both men shared an equally firm handshake. In the back of Héctor’s mind, he prayed Angel the Bodyguard wouldn’t crush his hand—he needed it to hold Imelda properly and play guitar. And write new songs. It was a sweet relief when he pulled his hand back to safety. 

Héctor’s shoulders relaxed a bit in relief that Bigfoot was just one of the security guards. He definitely fit the role perfectly and at least Imelda had someone who could watch over her when he isn’t around. As long as Angel doesn’t take over his full-time job as her boyfriend, Héctor wouldn’t worry...too much. “Nice to meet you,” he said with a friendly smile. 

Hopefully, he didn’t look as nervous as he felt internally. 

To his surprise, Angel smiled at him and patted his lanky shoulder. It was a gentle gesture, but Héctor mentally prepared himself, just in case his bone fractured. “Glad to finally meet you. Imelda talks about you nonstop.” 

“She does?” His eyes cast over to the tiny woman beside him for confirmation. Her lips were pursed in a tight pout and she swung a hard smack against her friend’s bulging arm. 

Angel snickered and shot her a few provoking glances to rouse more embarrassing reactions from her. Silent phrases formed on his lips and she glared daggers back, refusing to allow an obviously false statement to ruffle her feathers. Her arm tightened around Héctor’s as if she tried to keep him from running away. 

By the end of their staredown, Imelda’s gaze softened as she spotted the brown bag. “What’s that—oh, my bag.” She peered up at him. “Did you like what I made?” 

“Ah, I didn’t eat it yet. I thought since we have break at the same time on Wednesdays, we could eat together.” Hopefully that would be enough of a hint to Angel that Héctor wanted some alone time with Imelda. 

“By the way, nice hair, amigo!” Angel complimented suddenly, leaving Héctor’s brain scrambling at the unexpected comment.

_ ‘Is he being serious or just trying to size me up?’ _

Imelda rolled her eyes and shifted almost protectively against Héctor, but a smile continued to linger on her face. “Leave him alone.” 

“Aww, but I’m serious.” Angel patted his shoulder kindly. “Wish I could keep my hair nice.” 

“Heh, muchas gracias,” Héctor uttered, relaxing at the authenticity in this man’s words. Maybe there was nothing to worry about after all. 

“It looks better than yours in the morning, yeah?” Angel sneered at Imelda. 

_ ‘I spoke too early.’  _ Héctor quickly glanced over at her, and the smile turned down into an irked glare.  _ ‘How does he know what her hair looks like in the morning?!’  _

Imelda’s grip tightened and she turned her chin up. “Let’s go eat lunch, Héctor.” 

“I think her hair is really beautiful,” Héctor piped up, surveying her wavy curls; a dark blush decorated her face.

Angel put a hand over his heart. “Awww.” 

“Come on,” Imelda urged, allowing her hand to slip from Héctor’s arm and interlace with his fingers. 

Angel sniffed at the wafting aroma seeping from the bag. “Wait, is that...your special meat and stuffed chili?!” 

“So you still recognize it?” Imelda smirked. 

_ ‘Does she cook for every man in town?!’ _ Part of Héctor fought to freak out and lose a few marbles because he didn’t know what to do when The Terminator may or may not try to sweep Imelda off her feet. Yet another side of him, a calm and laid-back voice, overpowered that anxiety. If he looked carefully, is it truly romantic connotations buried behind the soft gestures from Angel? “I haven’t tried it yet,” Héctor admitted meekly. 

“Ah, you’re gonna love it!” Angel smiled and the sincerity in his voice and eyes spoke on a new level. His gaze was soft and nonthreatening...it almost looked brotherly. Ernesto’s “brotherly” look was made up of eye rolls, glares, stares, impatient glances, and sometimes confusion. 

“I’m excited to try it. Imelda’s cooking is amazing.” 

“Trust me, it’s good. So, I won’t keep you two any longer. Go enjoy your lunch.” Angel leaned over and kissed Imelda on the cheek. Then he tapped her arm gently with a fist. “You be careful, ‘Melda linda. Be safe.” 

“I  _ am  _ safe,” she reassured, glancing up at Héctor happily for a moment and then giving a “go away” nod back to the security guard. 

That adorable, delightful glance she gave him, no matter how brief, sent Héctor’s heart fluttering again. Being with her gave him the strangest feelings; one moment, she has his vital signs surging through the roof. Next minute, she calms his entire being like a gentle lullaby coaxing a child to sleep at night. He hoped he could hold on to her for as long as possible...maybe even forever. 

“It was nice to meet you, Héctor,” Angel said, patting his arm again. “You take care, too.” “Gracias, same to you.” He kept a watchful eye on Rambo as he walked past the next few stores, until he disappeared around the corner. 

Imelda rubbed his arm soothingly and craned her neck up to peck his cheek. “I’m going to get my lunch. I’ll be back.”

“Okay, querida.” 

As her slinking form disappeared around the corner, Héctor gently grasped one of his own biceps. His palms slowly explored the thin, defined muscles then clutched as much of his arm as he could. Either his arms were too scrawny or he had flying saucer hands. He extended his own inspection by flexing and critically observing the muscles stiffen under command. His fingers dug into the flesh, prodding and contemplating how many weights he would need to press to bulk up to Angel’s size. Maybe three weeks? If he stopped being lazy after rehearsal and went to the gym every other day. And ate a bit healthier. 

A hazy fantasy emerged with light pink and purple clouds of Imelda’s hands trailing over his hard-earned muscles. He was still half of Angel’s size, but now Imelda had more of his body to explore and admire. She was still light to carry, but now in this new body he could make her feel like a feather. Imelda wouldn’t need to walk anymore—he’d carry her around with ease like the goddess she is. As she’d lean into him, perhaps she’d press soft kisses along his cheek and fix his hair. If anyone tried to hurt her they would face his...hm, actually he wouldn’t pull punches or act with violence. That might be why he’s a stick. But still—nothing could hurt his Imeldita with him around. 

Suddenly, a smooth palm grasped his flexed arm. “Qué fuerte.” Imelda glanced up at him, softer than with Big Ben. 

“Claro. I bench 91 kg,” he replied, clenching further at her touch and hoping it would leave a favorable impression on her. Instead, he earned himself a doubtful smack. 

“Yeah, right, tonto.” 

“I’ll show you one day at the gym.” 

“Sí, muéstrame por favor.” 

“Okay.” The transpiring silence as they walked out further roused those hesitant thoughts he attempted to drown out. As much as Héctor tried to bite down on those words and keep it in his reins, it became an itch in his throat struggle to crawl out; even with his gorgeous girlfriend on his arm. Their arms were intertwined confidently in the face of the world, so why was it so hard to shove such silliness aside? “Your friend, Angel...he seems pretty cool.” 

“Yeah, he’s a good friend.” 

_ ‘She agreed so quickly _ — _ he’s probably cooler than me.’  _

“Have you known him for a long time?” 

Imelda bobbed her head slightly in thought. “About three years. He was working here before I started.” 

“He kinda reminds me of Arnold Schwarzenneger.” Héctor shrugged a few times. “You know, ‘cause of his physique.” 

Imelda hummed. “To me, he reminds me of my brothers.” 

As soon as she mentioned “brothers,” a heavy weight lifted off his shoulders. A faint church hymn trickled in his ears, and a tiny version of himself began to wiggle in celebration. Another tiny Héctor gritoed with the dancing one—the urge to move shook in his bones. But he focused on walking and holding onto Imelda. 

“That’s nice. The closest thing I ever had to an hermano was Ernesto.” 

“I can tell.” 

Héctor chuckled and shifted his arm to interlace his fingers with soft, dainty ones. “Since you already know about ‘Nesto, tell me about your hermanos. What’s it like living with twins?” 

“Están locos.” 

“Aww, I’m sure it was also fun and exciting.” He began to swing their linked hands playfully, despite Imelda’s slight resistance. 

She almost stopped completely in her tracks. “They almost blew up my room.” 

Héctor choked back a laugh, but couldn’t control the curious grin widening. “What—how? That’s actually kind of cool.” His cheeks twitched and teeth bit into his lip to catch any sound resembling amusement that would harden Imelda’s soft glare. But the jagged breathing was enough to trigger a heavy fit of laughter. 

“¡Cállate!” 

“Lo siento,” he managed between each smack. “It’s a little funny, ‘Melda.” 

“Stop laughing. It wasn’t funny.” 

“I know! It’s just the way you said it.” 

“Ay, you’re just like them too.”

_ 'I hope that doesn't mean I'm brother rather than boyfriend material—better to stay cool for now.' _

"I'm sure they didn't mean to." He let an arm rest over her shoulders and gave a relaxed smile.

Imelda leaned her head slightly into him, relaxing at the close contact between them. "Well, it sure wasn't part of their plan.” With her free hand, she looped their fingers together. “Apparently they were working on a birthday surprise for me."

"Aww, that's nice of them. And you were surprised after all, right?" He couldn't help but chuckle one more time. "Sorry, last one, I promise." Héctor leaned down to kiss the top of her head. 

"Ay, you're all helpless...why do I bother..." She slightly buried her head on Héctor's side in defeat. It was of no use getting any more upset at him; he always had an answer to lighten up the weight of her complaints. Maybe he was indeed husband material if he was going to put up with that for the rest of their lives.

"So...did you mean to say I’m like a brother too?" Self-doubt, however, continued to overpower him.

"Ye—no! It’s not like that. You just have some things in common, like that kind of reckless sense at times."

"Oh, I don't think I'd ever come close to blowing your room up..."

"Hmm."

"The kitchen maybe." She heard him mutter.

"Pfff...see?"

"You know I'm kidding, amor." Héctor planted another kiss to her temple and cheek, chuckling at the small annoyed huff Imelda released. 

“Whatever,” she replied, never letting down the small smile on her face. “Let’s just go eat.”  

* * *

Imelda slumped in her seat as soon as she closed the car door and threw aside her lunch bag. Her body melted from a day of slow foot traffic and boredom. The whole day, she just wanted to go home, catch up on a short book beside Pepita, and see what dramatic movie would play after dinner. Her professional productivity cleared most of her responsibilities, leaving her kicking at her heels. 

Until Angel and Héctor showed up. Talking with both was the highlight of her day, especially seeing her  _ boyfriend. _

She fixed her blank gaze on her bag—memories of lunch hours ago, rehashing her argument of why the twins were crazy. Héctor almost set her blood boiling when he seemed to support the twins’ foolish antics instead of hers. Right when she’d reach peak temper, he’d give some heartwarming gesture or phrase that forced her to question why she was getting upset in the first place. _ ‘Why is he so charming and fun?’ _ Plus, she learned a few embarrassing stories about Ernesto De La Cruz, so that was worth it. 

Going home didn’t seem as enticing now after remembering the tiny kisses Héctor  planted on her. Something about the way he held her always felt incomplete as soon as he slipped out of the embrace. Being in his arms carried the same level of love and affection when she held Pepita; and the moment she wriggled out of her grasp, the tenderness and devotion left with her.  The short hiatus from him began to stir the physical yearning within her. That minute void lingered in her bones, demanding his attention. Even his jokes were missed in the silence of her thoughts. 

The longer she studied the brown paper bag, the harder it became to control the growing grin on her face.  _ ‘He got off work early today...I wonder what he would say if I came over?’ _

Imelda did not hesitate starting the car, repeating his address in her head as the engine warmed up. She already memorized the route to his place after Angelina called a long while ago and gave it to her. At one point, Imelda sensed the temptation to drive to the neighborhood for a short exploration, but she and Héctor weren’t close friends yet and she didn’t have the time. That might have been for the better, since her venturing might come off as stalkerish and that was not a term Imelda wished to be associated with. 

According to the map, Héctor’s place was only about fifteen minutes away from the mall, and twenty minutes from her apartment.  _ ‘Maybe that’s a sign,’ _ she commented mentally, turning her head to make sure she didn’t hit anyone while backing out. 

Her heart beat in a more intense rhythm as she followed the main road and turned onto one of the back roads. Hundreds of thoughts came and went in flashes; yet, she returned to imagining what his home looked like. Héctor must have his own room with rock star posters decorating the wall, and some clothes thrown around. It might be small, but he’d still be content with what he had. If he shared a room with Ernesto...ay...that would be no fun at all. A shudder rolled down her spine at the thought, and that scenario was immediately discarded. 

Perhaps the space had a huge living room and small kitchenette area like hers. Half of the place might be neat to meet Ernesto’s preferences, while the other side...might be scattered. But Héctor would have the unbelievable knack of knowing exactly where something was in a sea of belongings. Except when he’s in a rush, under pressure, or stressed. 

Finally, Imelda entered the right neighborhood and instantly sucked in a deep breath. Words failing to rise from her throat.  

This was not what she was expecting at all. 

The houses and buildings seemed older—not that that intimidated her. A few markets were open; close enough for most to walk over for snacks and drinks. Most of the homes had walls or fences to keep outsiders from entering. Imelda’s grip on the steering wheel tightened when she noticed the heavy graffiti on the walls in dark and bright aggressive shapes.  A few men strolled along the sidewalk, laughing and talking with a six pack or bottle in their grip. The neighborhood was old and slightly unkempt; but the emptiness and almost lifeless energy it stirred the internal anxiousness within Imelda. 

_ ‘It’s so quiet...Héctor must be the loudest one on the block.’  _

A small group of boys huddled together approached—one walking a gorgeous midnight black Labrador—and caught her attention. Their heads were tossed back with laughter and grinning ear to ear as another joke was shared. A small smile crossed on Imelda’s face as she watched a boy pull out an exaggerated dance move. The twins looked the same way when they were little—no coordination. The dog panted happily with the boisterous group and Imelda warmed at the sight. She thought back to Pepita and the loud purrs she’d emit when her fingers massaged over her belly. Looking at this dog, he was actually very cute, friendly, and well-behaved...until she saw him lift his leg up against the wall. 

Imelda rolled her eyes.  _ ‘That’s why I have a cat.’ _

She stepped on the brake as a familiar sign came into her vision: Calle del Sol. The street was also empty and she followed it down, carefully peering at which possible structure could be Héctor’s. Luckily, there only stood one apartment building on the entire street—a small property with pastel yellow walls and a few cracks along the edges. It was simple, but seemed cozy and inviting. The sunny color left a welcoming impression on her. In the center of its face was a faded sun design; apparently, it lived up to its street name. Just like other properties, there was a white wall and sliding gate to protect the inhabitants. The universe was on her side as the gate was still open and if she parked now, there would be more than enough time for her to slip through without getting caught. There was an open parking space at the front and Imelda quickly claimed it before anyone else could steal it. 

Imelda pulled the mirror to check her makeup, hand hovering over the faded lipstick. She fished in her purse for rouge, digging past her wallet, glasses, napkins, business notes, until she felt the small tube in her palm. With the gentlest touch, she dabbed it over her lips and pressed them together for an even blend. It’d be more satisfying to see a full lip print than a subtle mark on  _ her  _ boyfriend’s lips. Imelda did a quick spritz of perfume as an extra precaution, and calmly stepped out of the car with an elevated height of confidence. 

Before anyone could catch her, she swiftly went inside as fast as her petite, slender legs could move. Her quick footsteps reminded her of those spy movies where the main character easily slips past all security obstacles. If they’re caught, they use their charm or dexterous martial arts moves to continue on their mission. _ ‘I’d be a great spy—just hit everyone with my boots. Easy,’ _ she pondered, slithering through the elevator doors moments before they closed fully.  

The elevators creaked, squeaked, and shook with age and Imelda prayed it would not malfunction and leave her stranded alone. Her surprise would be ruined if Héctor or worse, Ernesto, had to rescue her. Although the metal jittered and rattled, it seemed determined to carry her up to the fifth floor. Once the doors trembled open, Imelda almost leapt onto the safety of the platform before the aging apparatus swallowed her. 

She peered back as the gears kicked into motion again. Then her eyes averted to the hallway ahead—wooden doors lined along the white floors. All of the rooms were in even numbers and Imelda followed the pattern until she found herself facing Apartamento 512. There was nothing special about the mahogany door nor were there any special effects or decorations indicating who lived behind this closed door. But Imelda caught a faint melody resonating past the walls.

_ ‘This must be the right one.’  _ She inhaled and knocked. How would Héctor react? Would he do something dramatic or crazy? 

Probably. 

Imelda shifted her weight; no reaction prompted. She knocked again, louder. Maybe he was in the bathroom and didn’t hear the first time. But again, there was no sign of anyone approaching. “Don’t tell me I’m at the wrong place,” she grumbled, prepared to take off. 

Until she heard a familiar voice singing. 

Without hesitation, she banged against the wood as aggressively as she could, until footsteps rushed closer to the door. 

“Calm down, Ernesto. I’m coming, just be pa—” 

Both froze in surprise as the door opened. Héctor’s hair flowed freely, but that’s not what caught the restrained words on Imelda’s tongue. Her eyes trailed down the exposed slightly defined muscles of his chest. But it didn’t stop there. She absorbed every inch of the thin chest hair before reaching the slender contours of his abdomen. Denim waistbands interrupted the rest of her appraisal, including Héctor almost forcing the door shut. 

“¡Imelda! Dios mío, hold on. Let me grab a shirt first!” In a quick second, he closed the door and sprinted back into the privacy of home again. 

She wanted to say, “It’s alright, you look fine.” If only her brain didn’t freeze from surprise and captivation. Heat rose to the tips of her ears as the image of his half-bare body was still seared fresh in her mind. Imelda softly patted her cheeks to shake the encounter off and fanned herself to cool her skin down. 

“Now that was unexpected…” 

Suddenly, the door opened again and lithe arms encircled her waist, lifting her and spinning her around the hallway. “¡Imelda!” On instinct, her hands gripped long arms for support as she tried not to squeal aloud in a public space. 

Héctor stopped spinning and gently placed her back on her feet. His hands cupped her face, bringing their lips together for a string of animated kisses. “I...can’t...believe...you’re...here…!” He stepped back, revealing himself in a now oversized shirt and hair parted messily to the side. No one would wear a shirt that large in public, especially with a limber frame—it looked like it hung off his body without offering any shape. 

Imelda shrugged and smiled. “Surprise.” 

Héctor’s eyes lit up with delight; cheeks almost glowing; and he chuckled softly. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him. “Come here,” he muttered, closing the gap between their mouths once more. 

Feeling the warmth of his body and lips on hers immediately satisfied that little void itching for his attention. Her hands rubbed up his back as she tilted her head for that seamless angle. Ah, yes...just right.. And that musky cologne sent her thoughts spiralling again…

_ “Ahem.”  _

“Ah!” 

“Ah! Oh,  _ tías _ …hehe, hola.” Héctor scratched the back of his head, arm still hanging protectively around Imelda’s shoulders. 

All three women raised a brow—critical eyes darting between the tall musician and young woman. “Well, aren’t you going to introduce us?” 

“Claro.” Héctor combed his hair into a more presentable mop. His arm slinked off Imelda’s shoulders, hand searching for hers. He gazed at her and beamed. “Ven, ‘Meldita.” 

Confidently, he guided her closer to the three poker-faced women. Peace and composure flowed through her as if Héctor’s touch and laid-back demeanor told her not to worry. Glancing ahead, Imelda attempted to identify any physical similarities from each woman to her man, but none quite stood out.  _ ‘Never thought he’d live so close to his tías.’ _

A few feet away they stood, and Héctor turned slightly. “‘Melda, these are my tías.” He motioned to each one with acknowledgment. “Tía Chelo, Susana, and Alma.” 

“Mucho gusto,” Imelda greeted politely. 

“And ladies, this is mi Imelda.” He squeezed her hand. “Ella es mi novia.” 

If Imelda’s heart truly was made of ice, then it just melted at the introduction. In the next moment, confidence flared up in replacement. She is his girlfriend, just as Héctor is her boyfriend. Now that she thought about it, today was also the first time she introduced Héctor as her novio. To the girls, all she said was, “We’re together,” and that was enough to cue a full minute of squeals. How did Héctor feel when she called him her boyfriend? Maybe she could bribe him with kisses later for the answer. But to be addressed as his girlfriend for the first time almost left her swooning. 

“It’s about time we met her, músico!” Chelo exclaimed. “We’ve heard so much about you.” 

Imelda eyed Héctor knowingly and he shrunk slightly. “Oh? From where?”

“We’ve been waiting for our Héctor to bring you over since you’re all he talks about,” Susana explained. 

“If he told me his tías lived next door, I would have come sooner.” Imelda nudged her arm playfully against Héctor. 

“Oh, we’re not his real tías, chiquita.” 

“We just make sure he doesn’t starve and pays the rent on time.” 

Imelda nodded. “Ah, I see. Well, I will help feed him and yell at him if he doesn’t pay his rent on time.” 

Héctor piped up, “You don’t have to yell at me.” 

“Alright, I’ll do this then.” Imelda smacked his arm lightly and kept her ground when he pouted. 

All three women laughed a bit and glanced at each other—a possible gleam of approval in their eyes. 

“Oye, where’s my vacuum cleaner by the way?” Alma redirected at Héctor. “It’s been two weeks already.” 

“Oh, yeah! We have it. I’ll go get it,” he said, running back to the apartment. 

“Make sure it isn’t broken!” Alma shook her head and also took a step closer. “Imelda,” she spoke with a straight-face. 

“¿Sí?” Why did Héctor have to leave her alone with the lions? Imelda took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for a brief, intense grilling or warning. She may not have attained her shoe business yet, but she sure as hell wasn’t a groupie; if they accused her of such, then she would not allow that accusation to stand. They were happy together and she would not give it up so easily. 

The other two women also stepped closer. Chelo gently held Imelda’s hand, to her surprise.  _ ‘They won’t attack me?’ _

Tía Chelo smiled. “Héctor is a good boy. Please don’t let him go.” 

Oh. This is  _ definitely  _ not an attack. 

“He may be clumsy, silly, and an idiot sometimes. But he has the sweetest heart and will take care of you,” Susana added. 

Imelda nodded. “Sí, he takes very good care of me—” 

“Even if he annoys you or makes you frustrated, when he cares about something, he will not give it up easily.” 

“I’ll remember that. Gracias, señora...” She was pretty sure this was Alma, but Imelda didn’t want to risk saying the wrong name and offending her when it seemed things were going smoothly.

"Se-ño-ri-ta," she corrected with an assertive, yet playful tone.

"I'm sorry." Imelda smiled back

Then Chelo tightened her grasp on her hand. “And one more thing...” 

Imelda’s ears perked up at the seriousness clouding her voice. What she was about to reveal would be crucial and maybe change her relationship with Héctor. Was it his greatest fault? Did she need to be careful around him? Did something happen to him that he didn’t want to share, but she needed to know to avoid any triggers? 

“I know how sensitive Héctor can seem at times, so he's going to try and show some endurance. Well...I think you must have noticed by now, the way he—” 

“I got it, Tía Alma!” He shuffled back with a bulky vacuum cleaner, unaware he had burst a deep moment amongst women. Carefully, he set it down beside Alma. While he was busy hobbling it over, Chelo released Imelda’s hand before he could notice. 

“It’s not broken, right?” 

“Um...I don’t think so,” Héctor contemplated, an edge of uncertainty in his voice. Imelda’s hand slipping into his gave him a new spark. “So what were you beautiful ladies talking about?” 

“You,” all women answered in harmony. 

He gasped and leaned closer to his girlfriend. “They didn’t tell you any embarrassing stories about me, did they?” 

“Of course not,” Susana replied. “We didn’t tell her about the time you locked yourself out on your first day here. Then—” 

“No! That was embarrassing.” 

Imelda glanced between Héctor and the older women. “¿Por qué? What happened?” 

“It was ridiculous,” he answered vaguely. 

Chelo rolled her eyes. “It’s not as bad.” She peered at Imelda without expression. “He asked if there was a way he could climb into the window.” 

“We told him ‘no,’ but he tried it anyway.” 

Imelda rolled a thumb over his knuckles. “Did you get hurt?” She searched his face for her answer. 

“No...I almost fell off the building,” he noticed the wide eyes and patted her gently, “I'm kidding, I made it out fine! But come to find out...I had a copy of the wrong key to open the door.” 

“Ay, Dios…” A goofy smile pulled at the corners of his lips; an obvious attempt to charm her. “That was a dumb idea.” 

He looked down sheepish. “I know.” 

“See chiquita? You have to help keep him together,” Chelo requested. 

“I can do that,” Imelda muttered. 

Héctor chuckled. “If anyone could do it, it’s her.” 

Alma waved her hands. “Gracias for finally bringing her over. And don’t forget to clean your apartment, you have visits, niño! I swear Héctor Rivera, one day I’ll break in there and clean it myself.” 

“If you make it out alive,” Chelo remarked. 

“Alright, alright I will. And Imelda actually came over and surprised me,” he revealed. “You can thank her for coming over.” 

“She’s a good girl. Linda, you’re welcome here anytime you want to visit.” 

“Then I’ll make sure to visit often and spend time with you, señoritas,” Imelda replied. 

The ladies smiled angelically at her, then frowned at Héctor. “Be good!” 

He interlocked his fingers with Imelda’s and nodded in agreement. “Sí, I will.” 

“Make sure he listens, querida”

“Claro.” She smirked at Héctor. 

He waved to the women. “Alright, bye ladies. We’ll talk to you later.” 

“Bye niños!” 

Héctor pulled her hand hand gently and guided her back into his apartment. Imelda’s heart thumped enthusiastically—curious to see how accurate her imagination was. Her switched into hyperfocus to take in every detail the moment they walked over the threshold. They paused, and Imelda peered down. 

He shook off his slippers near the door and his bare feet sparked the flashback of the measurements she took a while back. She spotted the sun spot near the big toe.  _ ‘Ah, there it is. It’s really cute.’ _ Placed neatly beside the wall were the dark chocolate shoes she gave after making the appropriate adjustments. Her heart swelled seeing how clean and well-taken care of they were. 

“You don’t have to take off your shoes, if you don’t want to,” he explained, wiggling his toes against the hardwood. Rather than Imelda taking a step forward, she slipped out of her shoes and nudged it neatly besides his slippers. His eyes widened in curiosity and flickered at her feet. “You like to be barefoot, too?” 

“I like to keep a home clean.” 

“Ah, okay.” He cleared his throat and took a step back to clear the view of his living space. “Well, bienvenida a la Casa Rivera, well...y De La Cruz.” 

Imelda took a few steps inside, eyes absorbing the details. It seemed a little crowded, but what did she expect with two men living together. Perhaps the space was similar to her own size, except the presence of small, but inviting messes gave the illusion of a more cramped quarter. Several boxes stood against the wall; a bag of chips partially opened on the coffee table; and, other knick knacks on small shelves. Aging sunlight still peeked through the windows, enhancing the homey and comfortable aura.  _ ‘I could lie down on the floor and fall asleep,’ _ she pondered. 

Héctor rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, this place is a bit of a mess.” He picked up a bag and tossed it in the trash. “I was just about to do some laundry, when you surprised me.” 

She surveyed his shirt—almost pure black, except faded and worn out. A few nubs decorated the fabric if one stared with a good eye. In white, the band, “Maná” was labelled across his chest. “Is that why you didn’t have a shirt on before?” 

“Yeah, this is my PJ shirt.” He peered down and tugged at the hems. “But anyway, would you like a short tour of La Mansion?” 

“I didn’t know we were in a mansion.” 

“Sí, querida. Come take my hand and I will show you the splendors of this magnificent home.” Héctor extended his hand out to Imelda, pulling her closer. “Right now, you’re standing in the grand hallway. It leads to this spacious, charming living room.” 

Imelda smiled, readjusting their grip. “Wow, qué impresionante. Beautiful furniture,” she commented, eyeing the exhausted gray couch and chipped side table. 

“Ah, sí. We prefer classic, vintage styles rather than keeping up with the newest trends—it allows us to appreciate the highlights of the past.” 

“Interesting.” 

Héctor nodded and whirled them around. “Gracias, and behind me was the kitchen. As you can see, we installed rich, chestnut wood counters. And near the sink are some of our finest china that was recently used by my housemate.” His teeth gritted slightly at the dried speck of food crusting on the white plate. 

“You must have banquets every night, no?” Imelda observed the other dishes piling in the sink and cups almost towering over. 

He hummed. “Claro que sí. We often run out of food because of that. You’re always welcome to join for a special feast.” 

“Am I?” 

“Sí—the best,” and he winked, sending her stomach on a roll of somersaults at all the flirtatious undertones slowly rising. 

“Well…” She glanced down, almost demurely. “I need an invitation first.” 

Héctor raised her hand to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles. “Señorita Imelda, will you be my guest of honor at tonight’s banquet?” 

A small chuckle fell from her lips, but she met his eyes with the subtle twinkling in her own iris. “I’d be happy to…Señor Rivera.” Her gaze switched to his lips for a moment, before she tiptoed up for a kiss. Heat bloomed in her chest and rose to her cheeks and ears as he flinched slightly in surprise. When she pulled away, a dreamy glow beamed on Héctor’s face. 

“Wow…” he murmured. “Can I have another one?” 

“For what?” 

“Because it was so nice. Por favor?” 

“We still need to finish the tour.”

“We can finish it after one more beso.” 

Imelda pursed her lips together. “I don’t believe you.” 

“Lo prometo.” 

“Really?” 

“Sí, I wouldn’t lie to the prettiest girl in the world.” 

“Hmm.” Then, she came face-to-face with the best puppy dog eyes she’d ever seen. Héctor somehow mastered the art and craft of imploring others, and it only surprised Imelda at how effective it was on  _ her _ . Plus, he turned it up a notch by nuzzling his cheek against her hand like Pepita.  _ ‘Damn, he’s good.’  _ His pout came out and at that point, it was becoming very obvious he had no intention of backing down.

She met his lips again, but remained in that gentle bubble, until her lungs begged for air. After a quick breath, she pressed another delicate kiss on him just to send him in another dizzying spell of affection. A few seconds longer she lingered, until the satisfaction easily poured in.

As they broke apart, their foreheads touched and warm breaths mingled. Héctor smiled and planted a kiss to her cheek. “Alright querida, on with the tour,” he said gently. But with that voice, that loving gaze, that addicting kiss...doing a tour wasn’t as interesting now to Imelda. Not when they could continue pushing the boundaries of tenderness and affection. Yet like he promised, he pulled her into following his footsteps and that small voice asking for more fizzled out. 

He flicked the switch on to another room—cream and tan tiles complimenting beige countertops. The dark gray curtain along the shower was a nice touch to the overall aesthetic of it. Surprisingly, there were very few trinkets sprawled over the small counter in comparison to hers. Mostly hair products organized in a structured fashion. 

“Ernesto’s things?” 

Héctor chuckled. “Yup.” 

“What about your stuff?” 

He opened the mirror cabinet, revealing an array of toiletries—razors, shaving cream, deodorant, and cologne. “There’s some in here, too. Other things are usually in our rooms.” He flipped the switch off and led her to two parallel rooms. 

Imelda glanced at both doors, predicting which one was Héctor’s. The doors were bare and she only had a 50/50 chance of being right or wrong. Héctor’s room might be the one he’s standing in front of right now, and a knowing feeling curled in her gut at the theory. “What’s next?” 

“Well, the door on your side is Ernesto’s room. And this one is mine,” he explained. Almostly shyly, he added, “If you want to look inside, you can.” 

“Ernesto’s probably looks average,” she remarked casually, already moving to the corner of the door beside Héctor. “I think yours will be more interesting.” 

“It’s actually just a little messy, so…” He pushed the door open, but remained in his spot with the silent invitation. “Just be careful you don’t trip on anything, hehe.” 

“Está bien. I can just look from here.” Truth be told, she preferred to step inside and study his room, his comfort zone. But a stronger desire to respect his space overrode that selfish thought. 

Unlike the rest of the apartment maintaining a consistent color pattern of neutrals and beige, the walls here were turquoise. It took Imelda by surprise, but she approved immediately.  _ ‘Ernesto’s room is probably white and boring.’ _   The pop of color reflected Héctor’s personality—different from others, yet bright, charming, and inviting. Several posters and records from various decades decorated the walls—the faces of Santana, Queen, Soda Stereo, Los Prisioneros, Guns n Roses, Bon Jovi and even, Juan Gabriel and Los Panchos. As far as she could tell, Hector wasn't lying when he said he could enjoy almost every kind of music. She was also right in the sense that his room was cluttered and slightly messy, but not a pig sty. Several shirts and shorts discarded over the chairs; a few Star Wars action figures on the shelf; and, a red notebook laying open beneath an old lamp on the desk across from his bed. 

“Again, it’s messy and average—”   


“Your room is nice.” 

He chuckled skittishly. “Really?” 

“It is messy, like you say, but it’s a fun room.” 

“It looks mind-blowing when it’s all clean and tidy. I’ll show you next time.” 

Imelda raised a brow. “Next time?” 

Héctor leaned against the door frame. “Yeah, when you tell me when you’re coming over and I give it a makeover before you get here. I would clean it for you right now if I were Speedy Gonzales. But there aren’t enough hours in the day to reveal the luxury of this bedroom.” 

“That’s why you need to keep it clean,” she insisted firmly.  

“Because you’re saying it, I will try harder.” 

Imelda cocked her head to the side. “I hope so.” 

“I’ll do better,” he vowed, grasping her hand and swinging it playfully. “And there’s one more thing I want to show you.” 

“Ah, the grand finale, hm?” 

“We have to wait until after we eat. Aaaand I invited you to a banquet, no?” Walking backwards, his eyes glinted with that adventurous twinkle and never broke away from Imelda’s. His feet moved automatically and body swayed every so often to avoid any protruding corners. But his natural dexterity presented itself as if he had two eyes in the back of his head. “If there’s anything behind me, say something so I don’t break it.” 

Imelda shrugged coyly. “You seem to be doing fine now. We’re basically in the kitchen.” 

They found themselves in the center of the kitchen, indeed. A bowl of fruit sat beautifully next to the bags of candy and chips on the counter.  _ ‘Is that what our dinner for tonight?’ _

Héctor clapped and rubbed his hands together. “Tonight! We are going to have a bountiful feast. Prepare, mi amor, your palette for a delectable meal worthy of the gods.” He opened the refrigerator door and the enthusiastic grin fell into an unimpressed expression. His vivacity was suddenly washed out by silence and puckered lips. “...Since you’re waiting, can I get you something to drink for now? Water, juice, tea, coffee?” 

“No. Do you need some help?” 

“Wha—oh, no. Everything is fine. I’m just trying to figure out what dish to make you and—’Melda, you don’t need to look inside!” 

She pointed to a pot in the fridge. “There’s food right there.” 

“Those are leftovers,” he sighed. 

“So? I’m okay with that.” 

“No! I want you to have a fresh home-cooked meal.” 

Imelda made a face. “Fresh meal? Héctor, most of your fridge is empty! Don’t you eat anything?” 

He laughed and combed his hair back. “I do, that’s why it’s empty. I eat everything.” 

Taking command of the situation, Imelda crouched down and scanned around for a quick solution. “You have eggs...some cheese, onions...cilantro…” Without hesitation, she began to collect ingredients for the idea manifesting. “We can make an omelette for dinner.” 

Héctor grabbed at the few foods bunched in her arms. “Alright, I’ll get it started. Go sit down and relax—” 

Imelda shrunk away from his hands. “I’m helping you make dinner.” 

“‘Meldita, you’re so sweet. But what kind of host has their guest doing chores at their home?” 

“I’m not a guest. Soy tu novia. And we’re making an omelette dinner.” 

“‘Melda—” 

“¿Qué? Where are your pans and plates?” She challenged him with a stubborn gaze, refusing to back down. A small smile broke on her face when Héctor sighed and opened two cabinets. 

“Aquí.” 

“Gracias, amor.” Gently, she laid out the ingredients across the counter, then gathered the rest of the cooking necessities. 

“Well, since you’re joining me in the kitchen, I’ll get these dishes out of the way.” 

Imelda glanced over from the stove, hand hovering over the center of the pan. “I’ll help you.” 

“No, no, no, no, no, no. You can’t do both,” he countered, arm stretched out to mark a boundary. “You can only do one: cook or dishes.” 

Her hand rested on her hip and she negated, “I can do both.” 

“I know you can.” Héctor carefully rolled up the sleeves of her blouse on each arm. Warm tingles lingered the moment the soft caresses left her skin. “There’s nothing you can’t do. But I want to do this for you—not the other way around.” 

Her face softened a bit, processing those words. Glancing down at her forearms, the rolled sleeves furthered his argument—doing things for her without being asked to do so. Imelda sighed and grasped the half-cut onion on the cutting board. “The food will be ready in 15 minutes.” 

“Ten,” Héctor corrected. “When I finish the dishes, I’ll help you. It’ll only take me two minutes to do this.” 

She shook her head. “Ay, alright. You can help me chop onions when you’re done.” 

They shared an amused look and moved to their own spots. 

Water gushed, splashed along large musician hands to the rhythmic beating of the knife hitting the board. Soaked plates clanked against other dishes—fresh beads of water cascading down a clean surface. Hard eggshells cracked along the edge of a bowl to catch the golden yolks. The silence from dialogue enhanced the music of the kitchen—its song passing through the young couple.  A small squeak peeped from the faucet, ending the aquatic rhapsody. The knife banging paused; momentarily filled with an onion sliding along the surface in a light  _ swoosh. _ Slower, firmer beats of the knife struck the board; a different tempo compared to the previous bearer. This continued until the blade scraped along the faint grooves, separating the cuts.  _ Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. Chop. Chop. Chop. _ The quick  _ whoosh  _ of the whisk stirring the eggs complimented steady beats for a minute before slowing down in even increments. 

Imelda slithered away from her position and moved behind Héctor. Tenderly, her arms snaked around his waist until both hands held onto her forearms. She rested her chin against his bicep, ensuring she didn’t use too much pressure to affect the chopping. If she tilted her head to the side, she’d still have a close observation of his culinary abilities in live action. 

_ Chop. Chop. Chop. Scrape. Chop. Chop.  _

Then, he would pause—eyes scrunched tight and small tears building at the corners. A few breaths later, and the song continued. 

“That’s enough,” Imelda said, unlatching herself and sliding back to the stove. Her hand rested on his back and he took a small step beside her. She checked the heat of the pan with a hovering palm. 

Together, they moved in smooth harmony to create the perfect layers of a simple omelette dish—onions, tomatoes, green peppers, and perfectly melted cheese with each flip. With cooperative movements, two fresh half-moon omelettes upturned onto the plates. Héctor garnished both with doses of cilantro in a professional and delicate air. 

“Wow, you did such a great job,” he remarked, examining their meal from various angles. 

“You made this, too.” Imelda gently patted his arm affectionately. 

Héctor shrugged. “All I did was cut onions and pass the things to you. But you used your wonderful bruja magic to create the final product.” 

“Well, you weren’t watching TV on the couch while I did this. You helped make dinner in ten minutes like you said,” she rebuffed. “Right?” 

“I guess so.” 

“So now, let’s eat before this gets cold.” She grabbed the plates and turned to set them on the dining table. 

“Wait!” Héctor quickly picked up forks and napkins from the drawer and closed it with his hip. “We’re not eating here.” 

“Then where are we supposed to eat? The balcony?” 

Héctor snatched a beach towel hanging on one of the couches and his keys. “¡Ven! Ven! We have to go now!” He opened the door, the excitement in his voice urging her to move rapidly. 

As carefully as possible, she slipped her feet back into the shoes without dropping the plates. Héctor waited patiently until she hopped outside. He took brisk strides leading her to the end of the hallway where a flight of stairs remained hidden behind the wall. 

The door creaked loudly after Héctor forced it open and the old dusty smell hit Imelda immediately. Peering up, she noticed a door at the top of the stairs. Almost sensing the subtle confusion, Héctor smiled at her and skipped steps to reach the top quicker. 

“Wow, how nice of you to wait for me,” Imelda piped up, skipping steps at a slower pace than he did. 

“I’m gonna open the door for you.” Keys jangled as he handled the door and held it open for her as she approached closer. 

As she reached the last remaining steps, she grumbled, “This better not be illegal, Héctor Rivera.” 

He chuckled as she passed him and walked outside. “It’s not. I have some exclusive access here.” 

The golden, orange-red sky greeted them with warm beams patting their cheeks and shining in their eyes. A few puffy clouds cruised near the fiery star, but it grew closer to hiding underneath the horizon. Along the other rooftops, the remaining sunlight cast shadows from the square vents and laundry lines with a few clothes. A cool breeze implored them to sit down on the large platform in the center of the rooftop. 

“This is beautiful,” Imelda murmured, eyes transfixed on the intense colors of the sun painting the town. 

“Right? I was hoping you’d like this spot as much as I do.” Héctor smiled, hand resting on her back and steered her toward the platform. He wrung out the towel and laid it down gently. Taking hold of the plates, he nodded downward. “Siéntate, mi vida.” 

Slowly, Imelda lowered herself and folded her legs. Héctor followed after, sitting across her and settled the plates between them. He passed her a napkin and fork. Neither picked up their plate until the other did first. In synchronization, they took their first bite and hummed in satisfaction. 

“¿Está bueno?” 

Héctor nodded, beaming. “Claro. It deserves three Michelin stars.” 

Imelda scoffed. “What about your mamá’s cooking?” 

“She gets three stars, too.” 

“You’re biased toward me,” she chuckled and took another bite. “I love this view.” 

“Me too. Sometimes I come up here for inspiration.” 

“Don’t you get in trouble for coming up here?” 

He shook his head. “Tías let me come up here, especially when I needed a break from Ernesto to focus on music.” 

“It’s the perfect spot to do that.” 

“Mmhm. But I haven’t come up here that much since we started hanging out,” Héctor admitted. 

Imelda paused, inspecting his face and hoping she wasn’t blushing. “Be serious.” 

“I am,” he said calmly and without restraint. “Music comes so easily now. You could be talking about the mail and a melody or lyrics just fill my head!” 

“That easily?” 

“¡Sí!” 

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Imelda replied with a half-suppressed laugh. 

The spark for dialogue dissolved as their attention reoriented back to the flavors of food and admiring the remaining drops of sunlight. When their plates were wiped clean, Héctor gathered it aside and scooted over to his girlfriend. He settled behind her and collected her in his arms, just like he did at the outdoor movie weeks ago. She nestled perfectly along his long frame, gripping his arms as the sun sank further. 

Their breathing slowed in tune to gentle heartbeats. Imelda rested her head back and nuzzled her cheek into the soft flesh of his arm. If he kissed her here, she wouldn’t want to leave this spot again. Tranquility engulfed her as his hands tenderly stroked her. This time, place, and moment left a wholesome and complete impression in her being.  _ ‘I could stay like this forever and be happy.’ _ Imelda wondered when was the last time she felt this depth of holistic peace. Definitely not with her exes. Héctor transcended them in everything. No one could compare to the way he—

“¿Imelda?” His voice was soft and gentle, yet with a hint of exhaustion. 

“¿Sí, Héctor?” 

“I have a question.” 

Imelda shifted in his arms comfortably. “What is it?” 

There was a pause, but no anticipation jumpstarting her heart like a frazzled battery. Then his fingers lightly played with the ends of her curls. “...How does Angel know what your hair looks like in the morning?” 

“My hair—what…?” 

“He made a joke about it earlier,” he clarified. “I just...was curious.” 

“He had a party at his house and I slept over after getting drunk.” 

“Oh…” 

The timidity and hesitation in his voice was off-putting. Imelda turned around to face him, quietly surprised at the weariness on his face. He tried to put on a smile as she faced him, but it wasn’t genuine—she could see it in his eyes.  _ ‘The whole mall thing happened hours ago...is he...is he jealous?’  _

“I was just wondering, that’s all.” He tried to deflect the conversation, voice switching into his casual and upbeat tone as if little bothered him. But it sounded too artificial for her to believe. 

“We’re just friends,” Imelda said gently. 

“I know, and you’ve known each other for years, so I understand.” Héctor tried to maintain the easygoing demeanor and kind voice, but Imelda saw straight through it. It was almost frightening how well she could read him so soon in their relationship.

Her hand rubbed his arm soothingly. “He’s married, you know.” 

“...He is?” 

“Mmhm.” Slowly, her hand crept up to his hair. The silkiness of it never failed to amaze her and make her slightly envious. She combed through a few strands before snaking up to his temple and raking more luscious hair back. “Plus, he’s going to have a baby soon.” 

“Ah, t-that’s great for him.” 

“It is.” Suddenly, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled them into a firm embrace. His arms followed, but the brief delay in his response indicated confusion and submission to her affection. Until she could feel his body relaxing and releasing more tension did she loosen her arms. Delicately, she cupped his face and nudged her nose against his. “And he doesn’t hug like you do.” 

“He doesn’t?” 

Imelda smiled at the question and shook her head. “He would break me in half.” 

It was Héctor’s turn to smile and chuckle. “I would never break you.” 

“Exactly,” she said coyly. Her thumbs ran over his cheekbones in comfort. Staring into his eyes, it almost felt right in this moment to blurt out “te amo.” But the words didn’t come. It was too early. Instead, she pressed soft kisses over his cheeks, forehead, corners of his mouth, nose before finishing with a tender one on his lips. That seemed to relax him better than a hug. Imelda pulled back and brushed a few strands out of his face. Quietly, she murmured, “I choose you, Héctor.” 

Their foreheads touched and he nuzzled his nose against hers. “Gracias, mi amor,” was all he could say before sealing his words in a kiss. Their silhouettes could be seen perfectly until the sun finally dipped below the horizon and the night stars began to peer down on them. 

* * *

**_Creek, clunk._ ** __

_ Mreow. _

“Hola, Pepita.” Imelda knelt down, gently scratching the top of her cat’s head and reacquainting the sensation of soft fur beneath her fingertips. “I’m sorry I came home late.” 

_ Mreow! _

“Sí, I know you’re hungry. I’ll feed you as soon as I put my things down first.” 

_ Mreooow! _

“Ow! Gato tonto...Don’t scratch me.” She held over the spot where dull nails managed to swipe along the back of her hand—it did little to soothe the soft sting, but it was instinct. Imelda raised herself to her full height, moving through the space and dropping her bag on the dining room table. Pepita followed her, impatiently eyeing the food as she sat on her hunches and emitting a grumpy energy. “Here you go.” 

Immediately, the sounds of crunching silenced the glares and became replaced with satisfaction. For a few moments, Imelda watched the small cat attack dinner like no tomorrow before pivoting on her heels and pulling her hair out of the tie. The tension collecting along her scalp relaxed as her hair tumbled past her shoulders. She rubbed her fingers over the areas with the most traction; trying to quickly ease the sensation before standing under a warm shower. 

Imelda made her way over to her bedroom and began to lift her shirt over her body, crumpling it slightly and tossing it into the laundry hamper. “So tired…” 

**_Ring! Ring!_ **

“Did Héctor forget something?” Quickly, she shuffled over to the phone without running. “¿Bueno?” 

“Imelda, hola hijita. Why didn’t you answer my calls earlier?” 

“Hola, Mamá. I just got home.” Peering down, she noticed Pepita’s food bowl was now empty and she bent over to pick it up. 

“So late? What were you doing? I hope you’re getting paid for your overt—” 

Water gushed down from the sink, filling the small bowl to soak. “No, no. I was over at Héctor’s house and had dinner with him—” 

“¿Quién es Héctor?” 

_ ‘Mierda.’ _ Her jaw clenched, teeth close to grinding slowly, and senses temporarily forgot what she was doing until cold water poured over her hands. Mamá wasn’t supposed to know until she felt ready and had all the details she needed to report back— 

“¿Imelda? Mija, who is Héctor? Is this your boyfriend?” 

“Héctor is…” If she lied about it now, Mamá would find out later when it was time for the families to meet. But if she just gave the truth, then she’d be stuck on the phone for a couple hours answering questions she didn’t know the answer to yet. And hearing another lecture about the qualities he must have or else the relationship is over. “...sí. He’s...some chavo I'm dating” 

“So a boyfriend, right? And you didn’t call me?! Where did you meet him? What does he do? How old is he? How long have you two been dating?” 

Imelda sighed and stared at the ceiling.  _ ‘What have I gotten myself into?’  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things have been going so well for Imector, but it doesn't come without some challenges and a little drama.


	9. Promise Ain't Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If only one could be in two places at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep forgetting to mention, but this story is actually part one of the Grunge AU. There will be another story exploring Imector's life right at the end of this story. It will be a direct continuation, and the reason it's split into two is because the pacing/storytelling of the second story will be pretty different compared to this one. It was always our plan to do two fics, but we kept forgetting to bring it up lol 😅 
> 
> But without further ado, we hope you enjoy this new chapter!

“Here, catch!” 

“Don’t throw that, ‘Nesto!” 

“Why not? It’s just a small book.” 

Héctor rolled his eyes and carefully dusted the cover. “Still. We can’t sell broken merchandise.” 

“Now you sound like the bruja,” Ernesto grumbled. His eyes lit up as his best friend moved closer beside him. “By the way, did you two finally…” A devious look darkened in his gaze and a sly smile curled on his face. He arched a brow and slowly stuck out his tongue. 

“Shhhh!! We’re at work!” Héctor tried to clap his hand over Ernesto’s mouth, but they were slapped away and a loud laugh coughed in his face. 

Ernesto quieted down a bit and patted Héctor’s back. “It’s about time! After a century. How? When even? Plus, I didn’t say anything.” 

In a more hushed manner, Héctor started, “Well, we went to see the new _Predator_ movie, then we ended up at her place...”

“Was it good?”

“It was alright. Imelda didn’t like it as much and said it should have had Schwarzenegger in it though—”

Ernesto was startled for a few seconds, almost choking from holding another laugh after hearing such statement being worded so carelessly. Then he came to realize, his friend was talking about the movie.

“Not that! I mean, did she do it rico?” Ernesto laughed and raised his hands in defense as Héctor slapped his arm repeatedly with mild force. “I’m just asking!” Beneath the soft glare emanating from his roommate was a gentle heart that would probably never reach genuine wrath. 

“Ay, you drive me loco…” 

“Anyway, so now that you finally made it all the way, are you feeling less emotions?” 

“¿Qué?” 

“You know, like....less feelings and passion around each other now that the buildup is over.” 

Héctor cocked his head innocently. “No? If anything, it’s stronger than ever.” 

A strained grunt barely moved past Ernesto’s tight-lipped smile. His fist curled and clenched for a moment before releasing. “Hmm,” he hummed, “anyway, I’ve been thinking that we need to go out and hit the clubs again.” 

“We went out two weeks ago.” 

“Time moves differently when you’re focused on chasing dreams.” 

Héctor rolled his eyes again. “Sure, I could ask Imelda and the girls—” 

“Actually,” Ernesto cut in, “I was thinking this could be more like a guys’ night out. When was the last time we partied and it wasn’t for work?” 

“I haven’t thought about that…” Héctor rubbed the back of his neck, eyebrows crinkled with a dash of hesitation. Suddenly, a hand gently patted his shoulder. 

“Imelda will be fine. You don’t need to ask her for permission, do you?” Ernesto eyed him critically behind the playful tone.  

Héctor chuckled and shook his head. “No. I’m just so used to doing things with her, that’s all.” He shifted his attention back to the CDs—the clacking of plastic cases lightly hitting each other entering the dialogue. As he transferred a bundle of CDs onto the shelf, he saved one and placed it safely aside. 

“Aren’t you going to put that away?” Ernesto questioned. 

“That one’s for Imelda.” 

Ernesto’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. “What if she doesn’t want to go and is just being nice?” He crossed his arms and raised a brow. 

The clacking stopped. “She’s not like that. She would tell me if she didn’t want to do something…” Héctor glanced at the CDs and back to Ernesto. “Right?” 

A shrug. “Everything will be fine, ‘mano. Plus, she needs to do her own thing, too. Otherwise, you’ll start to get sick of each other.” 

“I would never get sick of her!” 

“Ay, alright. Well, the point is balance, no? You see her almost everyday. You might be suffocating her without even realizing it,” Ernesto pointed out. 

Héctor blinked, carefully processing those words. “That’s true...I guess that’s good she invites me out more than I do.” 

“Duh!” Ernesto laughed. “Girls always need other people to go with them everywhere.” 

A smile crossed Héctor’s face and he nodded. “Of course you would know that.” 

_“¡Oigan! What are you two doing?”_

“Work,” the musical duo answered innocently in unison. 

Chich narrowed his eyes and glanced inside the boxes settled between his two distinct employees and frowned. “Half the boxes aren’t even sorted out yet! What the hell have you two been doing?” 

“To be fair, Chich, since both of our boxes are half empty, that means we actually have one box cleared collectively,” Héctor explained and flinched when another box slammed down on the stool next to his boss. 

“Get your work done before I cut your paychecks in _half._ ” 

“Wait, Chich, let’s get your opinion.” Ernesto shuffled next to the short, older man and patted his back. 

“Don’t touch me,” Chich retorted and Ernesto retracted his hand immediately. “What do you want?” 

There was a brief pause to increase the dramatic effect on the conversation before Ernesto spoke, “Since Héctor’s always hanging out with Imelda, what do you think of her?” 

Héctor shifted almost uncomfortably when their boss’s critical eyes scanned over him. He was unsure whether to maintain eye contact or look elsewhere, but natural instinct had him grabbing for his other wrist. With the stoic gaze, it seemed more tempting to look away than awkwardly stare back. 

“Do you wanna break up with her?” 

Héctor’s eyes widened. “Dios, no! She’s perfect for me!” His attention revolved around the preposterous question that he failed to notice the tension stiffening within Ernesto at his statement. “‘Nesto’s just been saying I’m spending too much time with Imelda and I might be suffocating her.” 

Chich peered at Ernesto with a somewhat accepting expression. “Well, for once, he’s not entirely wrong—” 

“I’m right at times!” 

“Shut up, I’m talking.” 

“Fine.” 

“Anyway,” Chich continued, “you gotta have some time apart or else she’ll get sick of seeing your face constantly.”

“My face is so guapa though!”

Chich pursed his lips together and made a face that said “I’m serious.” With a motion, he forced Héctor to lean down to his own height, as if his next words would save his employee from a certain death. “Girls are a whole other story, kid. You gotta play psych with them. If she’s getting tired of you, she won’t tell you that.” He peered up at Ernesto and nudged his head toward him. “Look at him... he’s dated at least one woman from every city, and he still doesn’t know shit about how a girl’s mind works.”

“I’m right here, you know.” 

Hector chuckled at Ernesto’s unamused expression. “Alright, alright, I’ll be careful, but I’m telling you that’s not how she feels..she’s different.” 

“That’s what every lovesick dude says,” Ernesto replied once more with another eyeroll

“Whatever. Keep writing words for all that noise you two make or something,” Chich advised. 

Ernesto leaned against the shelf casually. “He does. We’ve been working on our music and Imelda’s supposed to have her business thing—” 

“She has a business?” A glint sparkled in chich’s eye and he turned to look at Héctor for confirmation. 

The thin musician grinned with pride. “Not yet. She’s trying to start her own shoe business.” 

“So she’s gonna sell shoes,” Chich pondered with the concept. 

Héctor added, “And she makes them.” 

Chich hummed in approval. “Really? Girl can make shoes and wants to run her own business...she thinks big—nice.” 

“Damn it, we lost the viejo,” Ernesto grumbled under his breath. 

“She’s so talented!” Héctor exclaimed. “You should see the ones she made for me. Maybe she can help with your foot problem.” 

“Hmm, maybe.” Chich shifted his weight, examining the current state of his shoe molding around his feet. His head shot back up suddenly with a sharp glare at the duo again. “But more importantly, I want you two back to work.” 

“We will.” 

“I mean it.” He deepened his glare, until a shadow creased over his hooded eyelids. After a few seconds of his message slowly sinking into the pair, Chich turned around and walked away. “Don’t know what I’m paying you two for anyway,” he mumbled. 

“To bring in chicas,” Ernesto replied cheekily and laughed at the lack of reaction from the older man. The soft laugh from behind forced him to turn and survey Héctor’s body language. 

The dreamy expressions, blank glances, late rehearsals, last-minute cancellations, endless dialogue about _her_ —none of that was what he meant to happen when he encouraged Héctor to chase after Imelda. Moreover, a relationship was not supposed to be part of the cards. They’re not ultimately bad...unless you’re aiming to seize your moment to stardom because it would only hold one back. In the beginning of that journey, it just wouldn’t work for Héctor or himself. When they became millionaires, then Héctor could seek out a long-term love since they would already have seized their dream. But spending all his free time with that fiery bruja meant he was neglecting the band—their vessel toward fame. _‘She’s going to hold you back, hermano.’_  

In all fairness, Héctor cranked out multiple hit songs and it was garnering more attention for them. The problem was he barely put in the effort to solidify their reputation nor elevate their status because his weekends were booked at the bruja’s lair. They were together for over a month now, so any moment now they should start losing _some_ interest in each other...And he needed to reignite Héctor’s spirit for the entertainment business. 

“By the way, I’m pretty excited for this weekend,” Héctor piped up.

Interesting...maybe because he has a new shirt for Imelda to see. “Oh? Why?” Ernesto began to sort through his own box, matching his peer’s pace. 

“For our concert at Teatro De Luna.” Héctor tilted his head as if the answer were the most obvious. “Because there’s gonna be a bunch of people with connections to the major record companies there. Or, so you said.” 

Ernesto raised his brows, taken aback. “You’re excited about it?” 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Héctor paused from his task and surveyed Ernesto. “We’ve been looking forward to a chance like this for a long time.” 

An almost doubtful snicker erupted from Ernesto. “First of all, this is the first time in one hundred years, you said you were excited for a performance.” He held another finger up. “Second, you’ve gone down the rabbit hole with your girlfriend. So what’s making you come out?” 

“Well, I mean, I can have both, can’t I?” 

“Mmm.” 

“‘Nesto.” 

Ernesto sighed. “You already know me. I don’t recommend it…” He noticed Héctor stiffen slightly and his eyes looking cast down, “but we’ll work on it. sí?” 

Héctor relaxed and grinned. “Sí, sí. The future will be good for all three of us.” 

Ernesto just smiled and nodded. When he said, “we’ll work on it,” that implied how to get Héctor back on the solo track. But he didn’t have to know that. “Just make sure you actually show up and not bail at the last minute or something.” 

“I _guarantee_ I’ll be there, ‘Nesto. Lo prometo.” 

“¿Estás seguro?” 

“Sí, Señor De La Cruz. I’ll be there.” 

“Ugh, I hate when you do that voice.” 

“What voice?” 

“The girl one.” 

“You mean like this?” 

“¡Cállate, Héctor! I get it, just stop torturing my ears.”  

* * *

“Baila, baila esta cumbia un ritmo, ritmo sin igual, nadie se quede sentado todos vamos a bailar.” Imelda’s voice rang out, harmonizing with Selena’s as she made a left turn. Her curves wiggled in the seat, following the catchy beat echoing in her car. As a few of the lyrics slipped away, she hummed along until she picked up on the words. “Baila, baila…” 

“Guess I know which one your favorite song is,” Héctor chuckled from beside her, grasping her hand and planting a soft kiss on her knuckles. “You already memorized the song after one day.” 

Imelda interlaced their fingers together. “Gracias for thinking of me. How lucky I am that my boyfriend works at a record store.” 

“I knew you’d kill me if I didn’t get it for you,” he teased. 

“You know I wouldn’t kill you...maybe choke you.” 

“Or smack me with one of your boots.” 

“Exactly,” she affirmed with a sly smile. 

“So what’s the name of this one?” Héctor picked up the case and scanned through the list of songs. 

“Baila esta cumbia…” Imelda sang delicately and continued, “un ritmo, ritmo sin igual—” 

Héctor rubbed his temple, smiling at the unrestrained enthusiasm. “Okay, okay. I guess I will learn the words too, so I can sing it with you.” 

“That’s what I like to hear.” She squeezed his hand gently and let go to regain more control of the wheel. 

They parked at a somewhat bigger mall in comparison to the walls Imelda walked into almost everyday. New faces and more stores would be a nice break from the seemingly dull loop Imelda’s workplace offered. Moreover, Héctor didn’t mind either since this wasn’t a mall he frequented to meet a shoemaker or hang out in general. 

Without hesitation, they reached for the other’s hand and moved in sync like a perfect set of gears. Overtime, both became comfortable with public displays of affection almost to the point where it elevated a sense of empowerment. Anyone who looked in their direction would know _immediately_ they were together. But they also knew the limits of public intimacy—hand holding, soft kisses, hugs, and simple close contact. The last time they went to the mall, they caught a glimpse of a young teen couple obnoxiously kissing every five seconds to advertise themselves. Imelda could only give a cold eye to them, hoping they noticed her silent message or be lucky enough to see a security guard reprimand them. “I would never be like _that_ in public, even at that age!” she complained out of sight. Héctor challenged her with, “never?” not expecting her next response. 

“I didn’t say in private.” 

Fortunately, they didn’t pass any attention-seeking couples on this mall trip. 

Héctor loyally followed Imelda through the different sections of the store—quiet and allowing her authority to guide them. From close behind, he could hear her soft humming to “Baila Esta Cumbia” trickling in his elephant ears. “You shop really fast,” he remarked as they strolled down the fifth aisle. 

Her humming stopped, yet she kept her eyes trained on the stacks of shoes, mindfully inspecting each design. “Because I already have an idea of what I’m looking for and search for it. I don’t like wasting my time browsing through a gazillion racks.” 

“And what are you looking for today, mi vida?” 

Imelda pulled a leather boot off the shelf and scanned the heels and soles. “Some shoe inspirations and maybe some dinner clothes for us.” After a critical inspection, she set the boots back. “There’s not much here, though I was hoping there might be something.” 

“Dinner clothes? For what?” 

She turned to face him, excitement in her eyes and a wide grin forming on her face. “I’m getting promoted.” 

“Really?! That’s amazing, ‘Meldita!” Héctor gathered her up and hugged her tightly. “I’m so proud of you,” he murmured into her hair and pulled back to give her a proper kiss. “When did you find out?” 

“Yesterday.” Her arms wrapped around his neck loosely, fingers playing with the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. “I’m going on a business trip on Wednesday to meet with some other managers at the main branch in the capital. Then when I get back, there will be a dinner to celebrate and I was wondering if you would come as my guest.” 

“When do you come back?” 

“They’re not sure yet, but it might be for three or four days. We will have dinner next weekend.”  

Ah, so she might miss the concert this week. That’s alright because she’s gone to every single one in the past and there’s no need to ruin her plans. She’s even changed her schedule to make it, so he owed her that. He dipped his head lower and kissed her once, twice, thrice. “Of course I’ll go.” 

“You promise?” 

“I promise.” 

“Gracias, Héctor.” Imelda kissed him one last time and patted his arm. “Since you’re coming, we need to find a nice outfit for you other than your t-shirts and jeans.”  

“Are we going somewhere very fancy?” A pair of shoes caught Héctor’s attention and he pulled out a shiny pair of black Oxfords. “I think I could maybe find something in my closet.” 

Imelda made a small unimpressed grunt and seized the pair from him, gently returning it to its original spot. “I can make you the same ones myself, but better.” 

He giggled. “Lo sé. You’re the best I know.” 

“Don’t you forget it,” she murmured, staring into his eyes for emphasis. 

He chuckled and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “You’re unforgettable.” 

“We’ll see about that.” Imelda’s fingers intertwined with his and she wrapped her free arm around his waist. “Let’s go to the men’s section. You can choose a style you like.” 

Héctor sucked in a breath. “I don’t know if I’m the greatest at picking fashion, but I’ll do my best.” He leaned his head against hers until they walked out of the small shoe store. Their height difference was perfect and he was sure he wouldn’t tire of marvelling how petite she was. 

Imelda once more maneuvered them through the small maze, until spotting the men’s section. She moved out of Héctor’s grip and pulled him by the hand to keep him close much like a mother would with a mischievous child. True to her word, she sifted through each piece that did not meet her vision for her younger siblings. Some were discarded after a second—barely a peek as the next hanger swiped across the metal bar. Imelda’s focus remained centered on seeking the appropriate ensemble, she barely saw past the edges of her peripheral vision. 

She suddenly broke out of her silence and quickly pulled a hanger, extending it out to Héctor’s frame. It was a soft lavender sweater ideal for chilly mornings and nights during the fall and winter season. “What do you think?” 

Héctor craned his neck to inspect the sweater. “It’s nice, but I don’t think it fits for a dinner look...” 

“No, not for dinner,” she agreed, arranging the piece to match his lithe frame. “But I think you would look very good in this. Would you wear it?” 

He pulled at the edges to measure if it would cover his arms entirely. “Yeah, I’d wear this. It would match your other lavender dress.” 

“I’m surprised you remember that one.” She pulled the shirt away and hung it over her arm. 

“Of course I do—I have a photographic memory.” 

“Yeah, right.” 

“It’s true.” Héctor smoothed out a wrinkle near the collar line. “Only thing is I don’t have any occasion to wear something like that.” 

“Well, you can wear it when we see my parents.” 

Something shifted in the air the moment she said that. Héctor looked down with a nervous chuckle and scratched at the inner corner of his eye. “Haha, right...someday that time will come,” he responded vaguely. The typical luster and vivacity in his voice were stripped from his words and the small smile he gave hardly convinced her of whatever he was trying to imply. He barely met her own inquisitive gaze analyzing his reaction. 

“Sí...that’ll come later,” she parroted, slowly averting her gaze back to the clothes rack. The long-sleeve hanging on her arm seemed unappealing now; why should she get it if Héctor didn’t seem comfortable with the idea of meeting her parents? Thoughts of him smiling sweetly as he stood before her family and emulating that lovable, goofy, and charming personality that captivated her would rub off on them—if they had any doubts about his character, it would quickly dissolve after seeing his nature shine through. Yet slowly, it became drowned out by the image of him reacting distantly to the suggestion. 

 _‘Am I suffocating him? Or moving too fast?’_ It was no secret their relationship evolved faster than others might consider “normal,” despite everything feeling genuine and comfortable. And they were spending so much of their free time together....was that spark beginning to settle or did they need to put short breaks between meeting one another? The latter seemed most fitting, yet recent memory of Héctor appearing insecure, hesitant, and anxious left an unsettling ball tumbling in her stomach. Last time she saw those characteristics in him was the first time they experienced intimacy together, and that was definitely not the case in that very moment. _‘Is he starting to lose interest now that we hooked up? No, no. Don’t jump to conclusions like that. It would be more obvious if he started to get over you...right? Right.’_  

“Héctor.” 

“Hm? Did you find something else?” 

Imelda realized she failed to process any of the last dozen designs in the circus of her mind. However, the yellow plaid shirt in her hand wouldn’t do anyway. “No. I was just thinking and remembered something.” 

“What is it?” 

His innocent and slightly dazed eyes left her melting, even if he just sent her mind scrambling to analyze why he was being weird for a minute. If he was going to lose interest, she could at least revitalize that spark with a very classic method. “You left your shirt at my place over the weekend...do you want to come over and get it? You can stay the night again, if you want.” 

* * *

Surprisingly, the week flew by and the weekend arrived almost as quickly as it ended. The excitement and thrill of becoming one step closer to platinum albums began to quiver in Ernesto’s bones. He could barely sleep last night—his mind drowning in his visions of charismatic self-introductions, fun dance moves on-stage, and answering questions from the newly acquired string of fans. They always said envision the outcomes you desire and Ernesto spent a couple hours of his sleep time doing so. 

Since his skin would probably dry from a reduced night of sleep, Ernesto followed his two tricks to brighten the face: chilled aloe vera and a shot of tequila. As soon as he woke up, he went downstairs and pulled an aloe leaf from the garden. Wrapping it in a napkin, he stuck it into the refrigerator and went back to sleep. He could put it on when he woke up again. 

After a decent breakfast of huevos rancheros, hash browns, and milk, he screwed the top off of the tequila bottle and poured himself a full shot. 

“It’s only 10 a.m.,” came a familiar voice as the slow burn melted down his throat and warmed the cavity in his chest. 

Ernesto ran the glass under the sink and tipped it into the dish rack. “So?” 

“Are you day drinking or doing your skin thing?” Héctor asked, munching on hash browns. He squinted at his best friend’s face. “Ah, I think your face thing.” 

“Is it _that_ obvious?” 

“It always is,” Héctor laughed, amused with the flat look he received. 

“You should talk. Your face looks better after I took the shot,” Ernesto retorted. “Maybe I’ll take a few more so I can get a better look at you.” 

“My face is so beautiful, even _you_ hit on me.” 

“That was one time!” 

“And I’ll never let you forget it.” Héctor sipped on some orange juice—a smug smile on his face as he wiggled his brows at Ernesto. He motioned to the tequila. “How does that even help? At least the aloe makes sense.” 

“In thirty minutes, the buzz will kick in. But by the time we go on-stage in ten hours, all the alcohol will be diluted and I’ll have that fresh glow,” Ernesto explained matter-of-factly. “You know, that nice faint blush on the cheeks.” 

“Why don’t you just use makeup?” 

“Tequila is my makeup.” 

“Eh, whatever—oh! Since you already have aloe in the fridge, could I have a small piece? There’s a small zit on my chin.” 

Ernesto waved his hand off and stretched his arms back. “Yeah, sure.” Then, a loud yawn. “Maybe I’ll take a nap.” 

“You just got up.” 

“I only had five hours of sleep planning and preparing for tonight, so I need to catch up on that beauty sleep.” Without looking back, Ernesto shuffled back to his room. “I’ll be up before two.” 

Héctor shook his head. “He sounds like me now,” he muttered, stabbing at the crips and savoring the first meal of a busy day. 

The idea was to relax for the day to physically and mentally prepare for the pivotal performance of their career, but to be dressed and polished about an hour before they needed to leave. Any minor setbacks that arose before their departure could be dealt with a handful of time and little worry on their brains. Yet, even with a plan, somehow one of them always lost track of time. 

Ernesto had his outfit neatly set aside from last night to prevent any noticeable wrinkles. In his pocket were a few rolls of protection in the very likely event of a new affair, whether for personal or professional reasons. It always paid off to be prepared because look where it took him: countless nights of passion, a few connections, and most importantly, no babies. For tonight, all he had to do was shower, change, and get famous singing for the world. 

Easy. Concise. Logical. 

Héctor, in comparison, just...usually he doesn’t get ready until twenty minutes before a performance, but lately he was proving his enthusiasm over this concert. He’ll probably throw anything on without too much thought. Oddly enough, this “whatever” style suits him quite well. Who knows how he would fill his time for the day. Hopefully not hopping on the bed with the bruja, but maybe they wouldn’t after Ernesto laid out his classic truths on distance. _‘If anything, he might call her.’_ Since he was excited, maybe today’s routine might go a bit differently. 

But as they say, old habits die hard. 

“¡Héctor! Are you ready or what?” Ernesto bellowed from the hallways, eyes transfixed in the small mirror. He smoothed at the most stubborn cowlick in the back of his head. “We’re supposed to leave in thirty minutes!” 

Loud shuffling noises echoed from the other room—clothes flailing around, chairs pushed aside, knick knacks hitting the wooden dresser. “Almost, ‘Nesto! I’m gonna shower real quick!” 

“Shower?! What the hell are you gonna do with your wet hair on stage?” 

“We’ll just leave the car window down,” Héctor’s voice boomed as the bathroom door slammed shut. Immediately after, Ernesto caught the sounds of water cascading and the shower curtain grinding against the metal rack. 

“You better be done in five minutes, I swear.” His hands smoothed over the same spot repeatedly to little success. “Dios, work with me, por favor.” He paused once the small strands seemed to submit to the motion. Silently, he begged for the cowlick to just accept the generous globs of gel that was attempting to hold it down. For a few minutes, it seemed like his indirect prayer had been answered and Ernesto exhaled in relief. 

Until, it suddenly sprang back to life. 

“¡Mierda! Just—agh!” He threw his hands up, glaring at his own reflection. “Maybe some hairspray will fix this...”

 **_Ring! Ring! Ring!_ ** **_  
_ **

He groaned. “Damn it, who’s that now?” One more pat down didn’t work, so Ernesto hobbled over to the phone before it stopped ringing. “Maybe it’s that hot bartender. But it better not be the bruja...bueno?”

“Hey, where’s Héctor?”

“Ah, I was just thinking about you,” he replied, rolling his eyes. 

“Hm, how nice of you.” 

At the sound of her voice, Ernesto threw out alf her words. He held the phone carelessly to his ear as he made his way to his room. “What did you say earlier? You wanna know where Héctor is?” 

Imelda sighed, displeased. “Yes, where are you hiding him?” 

Ernesto rigorously shook the hairspray can and the sloshing liquid sound transferred over the phone. _Sttt! Sttt!_ “He’s taking a shower—” _Sttt! Stttt!_ “—gonna leave in thirty minutes.” 

“Perfect. There’s a dinner meeting tonight and…” 

Ernest placed the phone down for a moment to comb back the cowlick. His jaw clenched in anticipation as the spray settled on his locks…

“Hello?! Are you even there?” 

“Ok, sorry what? I missed whatever you just said.” He could hear her mentally complaining and rolling her eyes, and frankly, he didn’t care. All that mattered was hopefully this hairspray worked wonders like it claimed on the label, otherwise he would be the one getting annoyed. 

“I said, I’ll be waiting at _El Tronco_ restaurant.” 

“Alright, yeah, okay. I’ll tell him—look, I gotta go—I need to fix my hair.” 

“Whatever, thanks anyway,” Imelda said and hung up promptly. 

Yeah, he could tell Héctor later, after his hair fell into place, he spritzed on some fresh cologne, and checked on their guitars by the front door. And anyway, whatever the hell she said didn’t seem that important, so it wasn’t urgent. If someone had gotten poisoned and needed help right away, then sure, he’d put in his contribution to alleviate the situation. Turning his head to the side, a wide grin appeared. “My secret to perfect skin? Ay, señorita. You’re too kind with your words—I’m overwhelmed with such a compliment from a beautiful woman. But in all seriousness, I don’t do anything to get my skin like this. I simply wake up and start my day ready to take on the world—” 

“Okay, I’m done, ‘Nesto! Let’s go!” 

With that rushed voice booming down the hallway, Ernesto stepped out of his daze and quickly spritzed cologne on both sides of his neck. He kissed at his reflection; the hair would have to do—it probably looked better than Héctor’s anyway. “Your hair’s not dripping wet, is it? Because we are not driving with the windows open.” 

“Eh, it’s dry enough.” 

Ernesto rolled his eyes and rushed to the living room, where Héctor vigorously rubbed a towel through his wet locks. A few droplets of water landed on his skin when his best friend instinctively shook his head around like a dog, and he flinched when another dot almost hit his eye. “You got the guitars?” 

Héctor nodded and extended his leg out at the cases beside him. “Right here. Pretty sure we have everything.” Rather than toss away the towel, he hung it over his shoulders and grasped his guitar case. “That’s it?” 

“Sí, vámonos,” Ernesto replied, grabbing his case and the keys on the side table. “Time to make dreams come true!” 

The door slammed excitedly and they dashed downstairs to leave at their planned time. Nothing seemed to worry them other than putting every fibre of their being into this performance. Besides, it’s not as if they _forgot_ anything.  

* * *

Crowded seemed like an understatement. 

Groups of people walked in and out through doors; others simply congested the hallways, preventing a smooth flow of traffic to circulate throughout the theater. The seats were almost entirely full that the back area began to crowd with newcomers excited to catch the performances. Some of the lucky ones who managed a seat danced to the rhythm of the music, clapped to the beat, and a chorus of gritos for the musicians. 

Good thing because it camouflaged the few Héctor released as a mental and vocal warm-up. 

Ernesto observed the crowd near the curtains, eyes peeking close enough where the audience couldn’t see him, but he could see them. “This is great. I can smell the fame, Héctor.” 

“You sure that’s not the girls’ perfumes?” Héctor joked, strumming the guitar strings and listening for the right tune. 

Ernesto moved away and walked over beside him. He shrugged. “I’ll find out when we go on-stage.” He picked up his guitar and hung the strap over his shoulders. 

“I wonder how the guys are doing on the other side,” Héctor remarked, adjusting the tuning pegs and giving another strum. 

Ernesto’s fingers picked over the strings experimentally. “I’m sure they’re fine. At least the theater had their own drum set, otherwise Sammy would be screwed.” 

Héctor hummed in agreement. His head shot up curiously as another band began to shuffle on-stage. “¡Los Chachalacos!” he heard the crowd scream and whistle as their instruments carried a vibrant and energetic melody into the air. “Can you see people’s faces in the audience?” He stood up and edged closer to the curtains. 

“Kind of...maybe half of them,” Ernesto answered, not paying attention. 

As far as he could go without his face interrupting the performance, Héctor noticed only the first half of the audience could be seen—the other half was shrouded in the dim shadows; bright enough to see people present, but not enough to identify a particular person in the crowd. 

He backed away and returned to the close vicinity of his partner-in-crime. “A lot of people tonight.” 

“¡Sí! That’s exactly what we need.” Ernesto grinned, hips swaying to the soft tune he played on his guitar. 

“I wonder what Imelda’s doing right now.” 

“Oh, she called earlier.” 

“Wait, she called? When?” 

Ernesto’s melody stopped and he paused in thought. “Like when you were in the shower.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I forgot.” 

“Well, what’d she say?” 

The melody from Ernesto continued. “I didn’t really catch everything—” to which, Héctor rolled his eyes, unsurprised, “but she mentioned she was gonna wait at _El Tronco_?” 

Héctor’s brows wrinkled in confusion. “ _El Tronco?_ Why would she wait there? I thought that dinner was next week.” 

“Ah, yeah. She mentioned a dinner meeting tonight or something.” 

“She said that it’s _tonight?!”_  

Ernesto shrugged. “I guess. I don’t know.” 

“Oh...my...god…” Héctor pulled at his hair and held his breath. “She must have meant it was _this_ weekend…” 

“Well, either way, you can’t go now. We have—” 

Héctor put his guitar down. “I gotta go.” 

“Wha-no! You can’t just ditch when our dream is literally at our fingertips!” 

“‘Nesto, I _promised_ her I would be there—” 

“¿De La Cruz y Rivera?” A new voice dropped in. 

“Yes?” The duo asked in unison, irritation evident in both of their tones. 

The stagehand shifted the clipboard in his arms. “You’re on standby. You’ll be on-stage in thirty seconds.” 

“Gracias,” Héctor said stiffly. He sighed and met Ernesto’s eyes evenly. 

“You promised _me_ you’d be here, too.” Ernesto crossed his arms, seriousness burning in his entire language. “You can’t be in two places at once.” 

“I know. If I could, I would.” 

“Lo sé. But right now, you can only be here or there. So…” Ernesto sucked in a breath, “what’s it gonna be?” 

The tension brewed in their expressions, even the lively music resonating behind them could not alleviate the stress quickly building. They stared off in a silent battle—fame against love. Both knew the exact thoughts of the other and neither seemed keen on surrendering their arguments. 

“I need you, Héctor,” Ernesto added sincerely. 

Los Chachalacos concluded their performance and a boisterous applause erupted from the audience, prompting Héctor to turn back. The crew dimmed the lights as a transition for his band, and already his friends began to trickle on-stage to their spots. Excited. Determined. 

Héctor met his gaze again, reading all the messages burning in his eyes. Finally, he sighed, shoulders sinking slightly as he bent down and grasped his guitar. The strap slung around his shoulders and Héctor smiled weakly. 

“For you, amigo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates might be slightly delayed compared to before, but we definitely plan on finishing this AU in its entirety. Thanks again for all your patience!
> 
> Also, there is a little reference to Alohasoleil's fic from this AU which is called "Glowing in the dark" (18+ rated)


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